


I’m straight. Prove me wrong.

by Frenchsoda



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blake is thirsty, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Porn With Plot, Sexual Content, Smut, Weiss is a little prick but we love her, Yang is thirsty too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchsoda/pseuds/Frenchsoda
Summary: “Let me get this straight. You broke up with Sun on the night of your six-month anniversary, after he spent hundreds of dollars to impress you, just because you got some texts from a total stranger?”Weiss stares at her, an eyebrow lifted so high it’s lost behind her bangs, and then she cracks up in the loudest laugh Blake ever heard coming out of her.“Oh. My. God. And they say I’m the ice queen bitch!”
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 252
Kudos: 1235





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: this is my first fanfic ever AND the first time I write anything in English (greetings from France btw). I apologize in advance for any eventual mistake. Hope you enjoy this fic!

Blake is bathing in the late afternoon light, loosely lying on the couch, when her phone vibrates on the dinner table. She ignores it, turns a page of her book instead. She’s so close to the end, she won’t let anything disturb her from her reading right now. New buzz on the hard wood. Nope, nothing could make her put her book down. Third vibration and Blake keeps ignoring it. At the fourth one, Weiss slams her newspaper on the table, groans, tosses Blake her phone and Blake groans back. Sometimes, that’s just how they communicate. But apparently her roommate is feeling more talkative today.

“Could you _please_ put this on silent mode? Or at least shorten the suffering of poor loverboy there and answer him?”

Blake mumbles, takes the phone off her chest and checks her texts.

 **Unknown [5:17] –** hey gorgeous

 **Unknown [5:17] –** still on for tonight?

 **Unknown [5:18] –** pick you up at your place at 7?

 **Unknown [5:18] –** can’t wait to see you!

She lifts an eyebrow. The last time Sun called her gorgeous was months ago, when he was still trying to win his boyfriend status. Now, they are celebrating their six-month anniversary and Sun has prepared—she quotes— “a mind-blowing evening” for tonight.

 **Blake [5:20] –** Sure. 7 is good.

 **Blake [5:20] –** When did you change your number?

 **Unknown [5:21] –** oh, yeah, sorry. that’s my work phone! mine died on me this morning

Work phone? Well, she supposes it was about time Dashing Spring Toothpaste gave a phone to their best sales rep.

 **Unknown [5:21] –** save my number for later.

She does.

 **Sun – work [5:21] –** i have a feeling we’ll be using it quite a bit when i get bored at work.

 _That_ sparks her interest.

 **Blake [5:22] –** Oh, really? And how would I help you get rid of this atrocious boredom of yours?

The three dots appear on the screen, disappear, reappear, and Blake pictures her boyfriend trying to come up with a sexy answer and she laughs. Sun was never good at this. Sexting, talking dirty, making her feel so desirable even miles apart. With him, she feels safe. Valuable. Fun and smart. Not sexy as fuck. But he’s trying, and she _knows_ she’s beautiful and even if he never says it, not openly anyway, that’s enough for her. It has to be.

 **Sun – work [5:24] –** i’m sure you’d come up with creative ideas

 **Sun – work [5:24] –** making me think of you in a very… unprofessional manner.

An amused smile curls her lips. Sun is upping his game. She shifts lightly on the couch, glances at Weiss who has once again disappeared behind the financial rubric of The Wall Street Journal, and focuses back on her phone.

 **Blake [5:25] –** I’ve been told I’m good with words.

 **Sun – work [5:25] –** not just words, i hope.

 **Blake [5:25] –** Guess you’ll have to find out next time you’re bored at work.

 **Sun – work [5:25] –** i am.

 **Sun – work [5:25] –** bored.

 **Blake [5:26] –** Yes, but you’re not at work.

Sun never works on Fridays. As opposed to her, who usually pulls long night shifts, but she managed to take the day off after the horrific week she just endured (being a police officer for five years now, she’s used to blood, tears and terrifying scenes, but somehow humanity always seems to remind her how _worst_ it can be).

 **Sun – work [5:26] –** playing hard to get, huh?

Blake laughs quietly and somehow it surprises her. Well, she always laughs with Sun, but not like this, not with that hint of anticipation, of not knowing what might come next. And surely, she’s not expecting the following text.

 **Sun – work [5:27] –** that’s alright, gorgeous. cause i’m going to get you tonight, and i’m going to get you good.

 **Sun – work [5:27] –** so good you’ll remember it for a lifetime.

 **Blake [5:28] –** Aren’t we cocky today?

She teases, but she can’t help the flush creeping pleasantly to her cheeks.

 **Sun – work [5:29] –** it’s hard not to be, when I have a date with someone like you tonight.

Her eyes widen. It’s been so long since she felt that way. Almost… revered. She doesn’t know what’s gotten inside Sun’s head but she hopes it will stay there.

 **Blake [5:30] –** Cheesy, but I like it. You’re getting a reward tonight.

 **Sun – work [5:30] –** and what would that be?

 **Blake [5:31] –** Now now. Let’s not spoil the surprise, shall we? I leave it to your imagination.

 **Sun – work [5:31] –** god, that’s a bad idea.

 **Blake [5:31] –** Keep it in your pants, stud.

 **Sun – work [5:31] –** alright. for now.

 **Sun – work [5:32] –** i’ll leave you be

 **Sun – work [5:32] –** see you tonight!

 **Blake [5:32] –** Can’t wait.

And she means it. She wasn’t that excited at the idea merely fifteen minutes ago, but somehow, Sun seems to be promising everything that’s been lacking in their relationship since… Well, since it started. Tension, danger, praise, flirt. Mind-blowing sex. That physical passion they never quite shared, because he was too cautious, because she never dared to vocalize her desires for something more raw.

Blake gets up and disappears in the bathroom. She has one hour and a half to get ready, and she plans to use every minute of it to become the sexiest woman alive.

Somehow, she has completely forgotten about her book.

*

When Sun parks in the front yard, Blake is already smiling by the door. Weiss has given her her full approval when she saw her (“Well, I guess I have a wedding to plan, because there’s _no way_ he won’t propose on the spot when he sees you in that dress.”) and she’s objectively stunning in her dark gown fitting her curves perfectly, revealing just enough cleavage so that the white of her skin would draw any gaze from miles away.

Sun gets out of his car, runs to her and gives her a light kiss on the lips.

“Hi baby! Ready to go? I’m SO excited, I can’t wait until you see what I have planned for tonight!”

She excepted a compliment, a wide stare, an appreciation of how dazzling she is, but Sun being Sun, he’s already running back to the car and opening the passenger door for her. Her smile fades away, but it’s alright. There’s still plenty of time tonight for him to admire how beautiful she made herself (all for him).

Blake settles in the car, soon joined by her ever-grinning boyfriend, and she can’t feel mad at him. He’s so… joyful. Oblivious. It’s just who he is, and it’s also whom she chose.

“So,” she starts while he drives, “how come they finally gave you a work phone?”

“Huh?”

He’s focusing on the road, trying to make a turn on a crowded avenue, and she thinks he didn’t hear her. She’s about to repeat herself when her phone vibrates in her purse. She reaches for it; she’ll put it on silent for tonight. But then… Then she sees it. One new message from Sun – work. She glances at him, his two hands on the wheel, his face alert and focused on the traffic, and realization hits her like a truck at full speed.

Oh. Oh shit.

She unlocks her screen so fast her phone almost jumps out of her shaky hands.

 **Sun – work [7:06] –** hey! i’m in front of your place

Oh shit, shit, _shit_. She was talking to, scratch that, she was _sexting_ a stranger?

 **Sun – work [7:06] –** are you home? there’s no light inside.

Blake bites her lip, wonders for one moment how you usually tell someone their date is probably ruined because they were texting the wrong person, and just dives in.

 **Blake [7:07] –** So. I just realized something.

 **Sun – work [7:07] –**?

 **Sun – work [7:07] –** is everything alright?

She sights, takes a minute to change the name in her contact info.

 **Blake [7:08] –** I think you got the wrong number.

 **Unknown [7:08] –** considering how we texted this afternoon, I doubt that

 **Blake [7:10] –** that’s what I mean. I thought you were my boyfriend. Now that I’m sitting next to him, I’m pretty sure you’re not.

 **Unknown [7:10] –** wtf?

“You okay baby?”

She looks at Sun.

“Yeah. It’s just… Weiss. Weiss being Weiss.”

She doesn’t know why she lies. It would actually be a funny story to tell, and Sun wouldn’t even care about the flirting part. He’s not the jealous type, at all, and especially not when it concerns a stranger she’ll never meet in real life. Her phone keeps vibrating in her hand and it drives her attention away from him.

 **Unknown [7:11] –** wait, you’re not cinder?

 **Unknown [7:11] –** who are you?

 **Unknown [7:11] –** i’m so confused

 **Unknown [7:11] –** OHMYGOD i just checked my mail, i entered the wrong number

 **Unknown [7:11] –** i’m so sorry

Blake laughs, and once again it’s with a little knot in her stomach she can’t quite place, but definitely acknowledges.

 **Blake [7:12] –** Don’t worry. I’m sorry too.

 **Blake [7:12] –** I hope your date is not ruined.

 **Unknown [7:12] –** pretty sure it is, but that’s definitely not your fault

 **Unknown [7:13] –** i guess i’ll leave you to your boyfriend

 **Unknown [7:13] –** please forget everything I told you this afternoon

 **Unknown [7:13] –** i hope you didn’t find it disrespectful or something

 **Blake [7:14] –** I didn’t.

 **Blake [7:14] –** I’ll go back to my date.

 **Unknown [7:14] –** sure. enjoy your night!

She wets her bottom lip, hesitates a second too long, writes a last text, smiles at the answer and puts her phone away for the rest of the night.

 **Blake [7:15] –** I’m Blake, by the way.

 **Unknown [7:15] –** hi blake. i’m yang.

*

Sun did go all out for their date, just not the way Blake expected. He reserved a table in the fanciest restaurant in town, at the top of a tower with a panoramic view of the city, and after the meal he took them on a boat tour, pouring expensive champagne in their glasses and offering her an enormous floral bouquet. She doesn’t even want to know how much all of this cost. They aren’t exactly short on money; he earns a nice salary as a skilled sales rep, much more decent than hers as a police officer, but she is living with Weiss Schnee and she doesn’t have to pay rent. Blake just wishes he’d save for a trip together, rather than spending it all in gastronomic food they can actually eat during the fancy—and mandatory—parties thrown by the Schnee family.

Overall, the date goes well. Like every time she’s with Sun, it’s pleasant and easy. But as always, there’s something missing, and it’s weighing upon her even more after that brief text exchange during the afternoon. She wanted that. All the things that were promised. She wanted dirty looks, devilish smiles, hot and light touches under the table, all resulting in too much tension that they wouldn’t be able to bear it, that they would skip dessert and go home to fuck, or not even make it home, just fuck in the car, in the restaurant’s restroom, anywhere. She wanted that electricity they never had, _she_ never had with anyone.

When they get home, they kiss slowly, lightly, and there’s no heat, no lack of control, no impatience. There’s familiarity and safety and, for once in her personal life, Blake wanted uncertainty and danger. She wanted that spark in her body she never quite felt, but knew she could, at the right time, at the right place.

With the right person.

She doesn’t want him to spend the night, so she tells him she’s not feeling well. He worries, genuinely, and guilt tightens her chest so hard she loses her breath. That’s the second lie she told tonight. And she knows they will multiply, they will swell every time. She knows she has to show kindness and set him free, as she should have done months ago. Sun is too dear of a friend. And maybe that’s it. He’s one of the best friends she could ask for. A friend, not a lover.

When he kisses her good night, she holds his hands and starts to cry a little, in silence, and soon they’re both crying as she’s speaking softly, as she’s breaking up with him.

*

“Let me get this straight. You broke up with Sun on the night of your six-month anniversary, after he spent _hundreds_ of dollars to impress you, just because you got some texts from a total stranger?”

Weiss stares at her, an eyebrow lifted so high it’s lost behind her bangs, and then she cracks up in the loudest laugh Blake ever heard coming out of her.

“Oh. My. God. And they say _I’m_ the ice queen bitch!”

“Ugh, could you like… I don’t know… support me?”

“I’ll pass, thanks. This is pure gold. Oh, I’m so using this for the rest of our life. _Never_ again are you allowed to call me heartless!”

Blake sighs. She should have seen it coming. At least Weiss’s reaction is distracting her from the devouring guilt that kept her from sleeping last night. Her roommate finally calms down, sitting next to her on the couch.

“Look,” she says and her tone is softer. “I think you made the right choice, even if it wasn’t in the best manner. You and Sun… It never really made sense to me. I love him, and I love you, but it just didn’t click. It felt like you were dating your annoying little brother.”

“Gross.”

“You know what I mean. He was there after… Well, after Adam, and he helped you get you through it, but honestly? He could have done that as a friend too. And he wouldn’t have had to do any comforting at all if I weren’t abroad for a year.”

Blake leans against her roommate and rests her head on her shoulder. Weiss never really forgave herself for being away when all that shitstorm with Adam happened. But she had to be, implanting a new firm in Europe for the Schnee Company, and she always called as often as she could to make sure Blake was okay.

“You’re here now.” Blake whispers, and she can almost hear the smile on Weiss’s face.

“I am. You’ll get through this. And I’ll do my duty as your best friend and make sure you never forget how _bad_ you are at breaking up.”

*

It’s 5 pm now and she doesn’t feel any better. Yesterday, she hurt one of the sweetest guys she ever met, and even though she knows she made the right decision, she can’t understand _why_. It all started with a text. A stupid misunderstanding, a few words from a complete stranger.

She scrolls through her phone, reads the messages for the tenth time today, and bites her lip. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t, but then again, maybe she should. Maybe she should try to figure out who managed to call into question her whole relationship. All she knows is _Yang_. That’s it. A name. That, and that Yang seems to be careless. And quite confident in bed.

She worries at her lip a few more second and gives up.

 **Blake [5:11] –** Hey.

The answer is immediate.

 **Yang [5:12] –** well, hello blake!

 **Yang [5:12] –** i wasn’t sure i’d hear from you again

 **Blake [5:13] –** I was just wondering how your night went.

 **Blake [5:13] –** I mean, did you patch things up with your date?

 **Yang [5:14] –** don’t get me started

 **Yang [5:14] –** she legit insulted me when i told her about the little mix up

 **Yang [5:14] –** like I cheated on her or something.

 **Yang [5:14] –** i met her 3 days ago, we’re not even in a relationship!

And there it is, that laugh that bubbles up in Blake’s stomach and leaves her slightly delighted.

 **Blake [5:15] –** She sounds like a handful.

 **Yang [5:15] –** cinder is such an asshole. i’m glad i didn’t waste my evening with her.

 **Blake [5:15] –** Well. You’re welcome.

 **Yang [5:16] –** aren’t we sassy today?

It’s a direct reminder of yesterday and Blake can’t help but blush, before feeling incredibly stupid to blush over the memory of a meaningless conversation with a perfect stranger. Hell, Yang might be a 60-year-old creepy guy for all she knows.

 **Yang [5:17] –** so what about you? hope your date went better than mine

 **Blake [5:17] –** well, it actually happened so…

 **Yang [5:17] –** ha. ha.

 **Blake [5:17] –** But no, it didn’t go that well. We broke up.

 **Yang [5:18] –** oh

 **Yang [5:18] –** i’m sorry

 **Yang [5:18] –** i hope it’s not because of me

 **Blake [5:19] –** It wasn’t. Not exactly anyway.

There’s a pause. Blake doesn’t know how much she should tell, how much she wants to tell. She is the cautious type after all, and unloading her life to a random stranger isn’t exactly the most cautious thing to do. And then, Yang texts her again, and her concerns seem to melt away.

 **Yang [5:21] –** are you sad?

Blake stares at her phone until she can’t read the message anymore because of the tears flooding her eyes.

 **Blake [5:22] –** Yes.

 **Blake [5:22] –** I really am.

 **Yang [5:23] –** where are you living?

She blinks, thinks it’s a terrible idea but answers anyway.

 **Blake [5:23] –** Beacon City.

 **Yang [5:23] –** well.

 **Yang [5:23] –** if it isn’t fate.

 **Yang [5:23] –** i live there too.

*

“Weiss?”

Her roommate doesn’t turn away from her laptop, fingers typing so fast they’re actually blurred.

“Weiss, I need a favor.”

“If it’s money, my checkbook is in my purse.”

Blake rolls her eyes. She never asked her for money, but somehow the Schnee heiress always expects her to. She takes a few steps towards her best friend and closes her laptop.

“Hey! I was _working_!”

“Yes, and it’s Saturday.”

“So?”

“So, you made me promise to force you to chill once a week. This is me forcing you to chill.”

Weiss crosses her arm over her chest, frowning so hard Blake actually finds her menacing. They lock eyes and battle silently for a whole minute, ice queen versus black panther, and finally Weiss sights and leans on her chair.

“Fine. What do you want?”

“Let’s go out tonight.”

She snorts.

“You know I don’t go out unless it’s planned at least three days in advance, Blake. Ask Jaune, or Pyrrha.”

“I did. They’re coming. Nora too. But I want you there. I… I need you there.”

This time, Weiss doesn’t laugh. She probes Blake’s face, notices her slight distress and sights loudly.

“I’m only agreeing because I know it’s difficult for you, considering the whole Sun debacle yesterday. But! Do not expect me to do this on a regular basis. When are we going? And most importantly, where?”

Blake fiddles with her t-shirt.

“Hmm. We leave at 7:15. And we’re going to a kickboxing fight.”

*

The drive to the arena is lively, to say the least. Jaune and Nora are so excited about the fight they keep throwing light punches at each other, for the deepest despair of Weiss, stuck between the two of them.

“I called shotgun!” she whines, leaning towards the front of the car.

“I know,” Pyrrha retorts with her ever kind voice, comfy on the passenger seat, “and we’re not eight anymore.”

Blake smirks, Weiss mumbles and Jaune and Nora get even wilder, kicking their feet at each other behind Weiss’s back.

“I can’t believe you got us tickets to an actual kickboxing fight, Blake!” Nora squeals. “How did you pull that off?”

“Yeah, Blake,” Weiss adds sarcastically, “how _did_ you pull that off?”

Weiss is, of course, the only person who knows about everything, because as much as Blake likes to fancy herself a mysterious and solitary soul, she can never keep anything from the Schnee heiress.

“I just know someone there. They’re performing tonight.”

“Performing?” Jaune nearly shouts. “You mean you know a legit kickboxer?”

“I… think I do.” Blake mutters, but luckily Nora and Jaune are back making a racket on the back seat, so loudly nobody could keep a conversation next to them.

Yang didn’t tell her much, kept it simple. Blake checked her texts three times to be sure she didn’t get that wrong.

 **Yang [5:23] –** if it isn’t fate.

 **Yang [5:23] –** i live there too.

 **Yang [5:24] –** if you need a change of mind, i’m performing tonight at the amity colosseum.

 **Yang [5:24] –** it starts at 8.

 **Yang [5:24] –** just say you’re blake and you know me at the entrance, and they’ll find you a seat

 **Yang [5:25] –** you can bring a few friends too! max 5.

 **Yang [5:25] –** sorry, i’m rambling

 **Blake [5:25] –** Don’t worry.

 **Yang [5:25] –** i didn’t scare you off?

 **Blake [5:25] –** It takes a lot more to scare me off. Trust me.

 **Yang [5:26] –** oh. good. so you’ll be there?

 **Blake [5:26] –** I’ll be there.

Of course, she immediately checked the Colosseum’s website for tonight events. A singer, she thought, and wasn’t she surprised when she found out kickboxing fights would be held at the arena this evening. She searched for Yang’s name, but only found crazy stage names instead, such as Gianduja or StormFlower, and she finally accepted that, if she wanted to know more about this stranger, she’d have to go see it for herself. But not alone.

She parks the car, laughs out loud when Weiss vociferates “ _Finally!_ ” and literally kicks Nora out of the vehicle, and joins her chipper friends as they walk towards the entrance. Amity Colosseum is gigantic. She heard about it, saw it from afar, but never had she stood beneath it, almost crushed by its size and the magnificence of those colossal arched walls painted in silver and blue by dozens of spotlights.

They wait in line, and when they reach the ticket desk Blake is more nervous than she’d care to admit. What if Yang tricked her? What if she’s about to make a fool of herself, in front of her friends? But she doesn’t lose her calm demeanor. She owes it to her years in the force, having to stay sturdy so that no one would see her weaknesses, so that she would always control her own emotions. Lives depended on it. So, as she leans over the counter, she appears as collected and assured as ever.

“Hi. I’m Blake. I know Yang?”

She’s immediately greeted with a smile, and before she knows it she and her friends are dragged into the colosseum, placed on front-row seats and taking in the best view in the arena.

“Wow, we’re like, VIPs!” Jaune marvels.

Even Weiss seems satisfied, and that says a lot considering her luxurious standards. The heiress is sitting at Blake’s right, as elegantly as if she was occupying a throne, and Pyrrha is sitting at Blake’s left, a genuine and happy look on her face.

Blake feels safe. Not at _all_ nervous about, somehow, meeting this infamous Yang. Why would she care anyway? She’s just here to change her mind, to forget about Sun and the horrible way she crushed his heart not even twenty-four hours ago.

“I can’t wait to see him,” Weiss whispers in her ear so that no one else would hear. “I’m warning you: if he’s ugly, I’ll laugh.”

“Ugh, that’s _not_ why I’m here!”

Weiss just snorts quietly, obviously enjoying the situation and being the only one knowing about mysterious Yang. Pyrrha, Jaune and Nora only know Blake and Sun broke up, and after hugging and listening kindly to why Blake did it, they all decided the best thing right now would be for her, for all of them, to enjoy this unexpected night.

And so they wait, they chat, they laugh, and an impressive crowd gathers in the arena, darkening the seats, filling the air with impatience and excitement. As it turns out, tonight is a huge event. There are cameras, sports journalists and so many spectators it’s overwhelming. Blake never knew kickboxing could spark that much interest (really, _who_ _knew_?), but she starts to understand why.

Spotlights suddenly enlighten the center of the arena and, above their heads, a huge screen displays the order of the four fights. An announcer yells in the mike while the referee enters the ring, and it’s like a wild fire suddenly sets the colosseum ablaze. The public stands, roars, claps and whistles, and Blake can’t help but do all of that too, smiling brightly, energy flooding through her veins.

The first two contenders enter the ring under a thunder of applause, and Blake unconsciously grips her white tank top while she scrutinizes their faces. How can she recognize Yang amongst those two large men, all muscles and hard glares, when she knows nothing of them except that they don’t put capital letters in their texts? She secretly hopes it’s none of those two. But then again, what does she hope for? _Why_ does she care?

Suddenly, she thinks about Sun. About him, curled up in his bed, not eating, not sleeping, not doing anything. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be enjoying her night with her friends, with _their_ friends, she shouldn’t be excited by the perspective of meeting Yang. Sun sure isn’t.

“Hey.”

It’s Weiss, looking at her and her blurry eyes with concern. She puts gentle fingers on her forearm.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Blake whispers, and it’s a wonder Weiss can hear her within the cheering crowd.

“It’s okay, Blake. You have every right to be there. And Sun is probably not alone, I’m sure Neptune is taking good care of him.”

The thought comforts her, but not enough. The ten rounds of the fight end quickly, Blake half paying attention, half worrying about Sun. She doesn’t register the two boxers leaving nor the two girls taking their place in the ring, or the announcer screaming “And now, ladies and gentlemen, make some noise for Gianduja and Bumblebee!” She’s disconnected from it all, until a sharp scream springs so close to her she starts.

“Yeaaaaah! You go sis! Kick their asseeees!”

It comes from a short red-haired girl sitting—well, _jumping_ —right next to Weiss, who’s now looking at her like she’s having a seizure.

“Go Yang!” she shrieks again, and time stops.

Weiss exhales a sharp breath, turns to the girl and asks: “Wait, who’s Yang?”

“My sister!”

“I don’t _care_ about that, which one is it?”

“Bumblebee, of course! The one in black and yellow!”

Blake’s eyes snap back at the ring, noticing the new contenders for the first time. And sure enough, now she’s all Blake can see. Her attention zeroes in on her, on _Yang_ , and nothing can break her focus, not even the blasting laugh escaping from Weiss’s throat or her out of breath exclamation “Oh my _God_ , Yang is a girl!” Nothing can distract Blake from Yang.

*

So, here is the thing. Blake tried not to picture Yang. She really did. She didn’t want to have expectations, because she didn’t have the right to. She just broke up with Sun, she needed time for herself, for healing and for letting him heal, and this crazy and quite frankly unhealthy curiosity about Yang, a complete stranger with no face, no age, no voice, no gender, _nothing_ had to be just that, a curiosity, maybe a hint of interest, and that was it.

But even if she tried not to, she was still expecting something. Or so she discovers right now, the moment she sees _her_ for the first time, because she feels utterly dumbfounded, as if any expectations she might have were just shattered to pieces.

Yang is a girl.

What’s more, Yang is an inconceivably _stunning_ girl. With her golden hair, wild and shiny, with her lilac eyes, so bright Blake can _feel_ their spark, with her dashing smile, ferocious, teasing, honest, with her freaking visible abs, her freaking long legs, her freaking perfect breasts almost overflowing from her sports bra, her freaking _everything_.

Yang is a girl.

Blake is straight.

And one of those two statements is incredibly wrong because, right now, there’s nothing Blake wants more than to be bent over and ravished by this girl.

Yang turns towards them and Blake’s heart skips a beat, but the boxer doesn’t seem to notice her. Instead, she waves happily at her sister, still screaming her support beside Weiss. And then…

Then the fight begins. And hot, sultry Yang metamorphoses in fearless, mighty Yang. She’s light on her feet, dodges every strike, hits faster than lightning, and she throws several spectacular jumping kicks and uppercuts before knocking out her opponent in a single, precise, powerful punch.

When the crowd chants her victory, she puts on a show, lifts both arms in the air, gloves shining with the sweat of her opponent, her own perspiration gliding on her neck, her shoulders, her arms, her abs. The next nine rounds are pretty much the same, Yang fully dominating the ring, with an ease, a confidence that ignites a small fire in Blake’s stomach.

Yang is _dangerous_. In every sense of the way. She’s fucking dangerous and Blake already feels intoxicated, poisoned, corrupted. She wanted passion. She wanted sexual desires so strong she wouldn’t even comprehend it, well there it is. There’s her fucking chaos, her loss of control, her aberrant incomprehension. She hasn’t even talked to her once. She hasn’t locked eyes with her. She doesn’t know anything about her life. And none of it matters.

The fight ends with a crushing victory for Yang, and she runs out of the ring, all grins and power poses, before disappearing backstage.

“Wow.” Weiss says.

“Yeah, wow.” Blake whispers, heart in her throat.

“No, I mean _wow_. You were basically eye-fucking her the whole time. Aren’t you supposed to be straight?”

Blake is so shaken by her near out-of-body lust experience she can’t even fight her friend’s sass. Luckily, Yang’s sister is so psyched by her sibling’s triumph she tugs Weiss by the arm and giggles.

“Did you see her? She was so cool! God, she’s the best! I’m so proud!”

The Schnee heiress drops a threatening gaze on the fingers pressed on her forearm, and after a few frightening seconds her expression softens. She smiles, and Blake recognizes this smile oh too well, it’s her business smile, the one she uses to seal millions-of-dollar-worth deals.

“Well, she was quite impressive, yes. Yang, you say? Actually, my friend here knows her. Do you think we could meet her backstage after the last fight?”

“Oh sure! She’ll be so happy to see you! You know her from work?”

The last part is addressed directly to Blake, who’s a little unsettled by the perfectly ingenuous expression on the red-haired girl’s face.

“No. Not from work. It’s a long story. Anyway, thank you… hm…”

The girl smiles and extends her hand.

“Ruby.”

*

As soon as the last fight is over, Ruby drags them backstage. She knows every worker here and none of them care that she’s guiding five strangers towards the locker rooms. On the way, she’s excitedly chatting with Jaune, Nora and Pyrrha, as if they already were best friends, and even Weiss seems to soothe around her, smiling more sincerely at her enthusiasm. Only Blake remains silent, almost meditating while walking so that she could keep her emotions in check. She hasn’t really met her yet, but she is certain of one thing: Yang is definitely one of the coolest persons in the world, and there’s _no way_ her first impression of Blake will be that of a fidgeting, panic-struck, sexually confused little girl. So, she has to up her game, wear her officer mask, appear confident, in control, unfazed.

“We’re here!” Ruby chirps, and she doesn’t even knock before slamming the door open and bursting in the locker room. Yang is wiping her hair, dripping from her shower, and she traded her sports bra and short for _perfectly_ fitting black leather pants and a light blue tank top with a plunging neckline. She’s outrageously sexy and Blake has to summon all her training years in the academy to keep her eyes on the boxer’s face.

“Yang! You were aweeeesome!”

Ruby literally jumps in her sister’s arms and they both squeeze each other. Ruby takes a step back and turns to the group waiting behind her.

“I brought some friends!”

Towel now resting on her shoulders, Yang’s gaze slides from Jaune to Nora, Pyrrha and Weiss, and finally lingers on Blake. Her smile darkens, teasing, knowing, _pleased_ and she takes a step towards her.

“Blake,” she says, and the way her tongue wraps around each letter of her name nearly sends a shiver in her spine. But no, Blake remains collected. She has to be _cool_ , after all _._ “I’m so glad you came.”

“Thank you for inviting me. Us. Those are my friends, Weiss, Pyrrha, Nora and Jaune.”

As soon as the introductions are made, Jaune and Nora lose all the restraint they barely maintained so far, dash to Yang and start flooding her with questions and compliments about the fight and her extraordinary performance. Yang laughs, answers a few interrogations, but the words don’t register in Blake’s brain, because _Yang laughs_ and that must be the huskiest, sexiest laugh in the world.

“Okay kids, that’s enough,” Weiss intervenes. She grasps their collars and drags them away from Yang, who keeps laughing lightly, positively amused by the sketch. “Come Pyrrha, Ruby, those two have some catching up to do.”

Just like that, everybody follows the heiress’s orders and within seconds the two girls are left alone in the now-closed room, and Blake both curses and blesses Weiss for her initiative. Yang combs dexterous fingers in her wet hair, trying to tame its wildness, her eyes fastened on Blake’s.

“Sorry about that.” A dash of pride surges in Blake’s chest as she speaks nonchalantly, not showing in the slightest how _destroyed_ she feels inside. “My friends can be… a bit much.”

“That’s okay. They seem nice!”

It’s sincere, as everything about Yang. Her words, her smile, her confidence, her beauty, everything is sincere.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she continues. “I’m really happy to see you.”

Oh boy. It’s a little too early for Blake to say the same, as she feels she’s embarking on a chaotic journey with a still unknown destination.

“So, how did you find out who I was?” Yang asks.

“Ruby screamed your name the second you entered the ring.”

The boxer chortles, and it’s so spontaneous and adorable that Blake marvels at the sight. So, in addition to being gorgeous as fuck, Yang is also cute. Really cute.

“Yeah,” she finally breathes out, “Ruby is my biggest fan.”

Her smile is now tinged with this darker, dangerous shade, and she slightly leans forward, brushing the frontier of Blake’s personal space.

“Well, she was until now,” Yang almost purrs and Blake doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t shake, doesn’t swallow. She remains centered, only allows the ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips.

“What about you?” she counters to keep her composure as much as to satisfy her curiosity. “How did you know who I was?”

“Well, you seemed like the only one in the room that would give me _that kind_ of reward for saying something cheesy.”

This time, Blake can’t contain her sharp intake of breath. Yang notices, of course she does, and her eyes gleam with amusement and satisfaction. But, as it turns out, Yang is also merciful and she chooses to let it go, pointing out instead, “You don’t seem sad anymore.”

“Well, I am rather enjoying my evening so far.”

“That’s too bad.”

Blake raises her eyebrows, even further when Yang takes one more step forward, narrowing the gap between them. They’re so close she can actually feel the fighter’s heat radiating from her (ravishing) body.

“I’ve been told I’m quite good at comforting pretty girls.”

Blake takes it back. Yang is everything _but_ merciful. Yang is a player. Yang knows _exactly_ how to get in someone’s pants just as she knows exactly how to knock out an opponent in the ring, and Blake will not give her the satisfaction. She will not be easy. She will not be one of those “pretty girls”. So, she lifts her chin in a defying stance and, voice chill and soft, she strikes, “I’m straight.”

It’s not denial, because after tonight there’s no way Blake will ever consider herself strictly straight again. It’s more of a challenge. _I’m straight. Prove me wrong._ Yang smiles. She seems to read between the lines, to accept the defiance, to be pleased with it, even.

“I’ve been told I’m a pretty good friend too.”

She winks, drops the towel in her duffle bag, throws the bag over her shoulder and opens the door.

“Ruby and I are going for a drink with a few others in a bar nearby. Wanna join?”

And there isn’t a parallel universe where Blake doesn’t agree.

*

They don’t talk for the rest of the night, not really anyway. They’re all sitting around a large table, Yang’s friends and Blake’s friends hitting it off over cocktails and beers, and all Blake can do is steal glances at the fighter and hope no one notices. Well, no one except for Weiss, who spends half of the evening glaring at her with both judgmental and amused eyes. Blake knows her roommate will never, _ever_ let this go, not that she can blame her.

The only moment Yang and Blake find themselves alone together is when they both go to the bar for a refill.

“Not much of an alcohol person?” Yang asks when Blake orders her mango juice.

“I can enjoy a nice glass of wine,” Blake smiles, “but not tonight. I have to drive my friends home. What about you? You’re not drinking anything but coke.”

“I have a shooting soon, I need to stay in shape.”

Blake nearly drops the glass the bartender just gave her.

“A shooting? Wait. Are you an actress?”

Yang laughs, pays the bartender for her own drink and leans on the counter, not inclined to go back to their friends just yet.

“Sort of. Just not the kind you’re thinking about.”

Blake’s eyes widen and her throat suddenly dries out, so much she has to take a hasty sip she almost chocks on. One second too late, Yang realizes what’s baffling Blake’s mind.

“Oh, no! Not _that kind_ of actress! Though it would be fun to try,” she chuckles. “No, I’m a stuntwoman.”

Oh. Of course. Of course, Yang’s job is cool as fuck, of course she’s doubling actresses for their most dangerous scenes, and of course being a kickboxing goddess is just a hobby. Blake even manages to forget that she’s a police officer herself, yet it is quite the dangerous and respectable profession. All she thinks about is how _bright_ Yang is in every single aspect of her life.

“That’s…” Blake’s voice becomes hoarse, and she fights to regain her impassivity. “That’s kind of cool, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Yang grins, genuinely pleased, as if Blake is the first person to tell her that.

“What about you, Blake?”

She tries not to shiver when she hears the way the boxer pronounces her name, like she’s _tasting_ it.

“What do you do for a living?”

Okay. Time. To. Shine. Well, time to tease, actually.

“Hmm… I’m not sure you’ve proven worthy of that information yet. Be good, and maybe I’ll show you someday.”

Yang straightens faintly against the counter, her lilac eyes gemmy, shimmering, _devouring_ , and Blake knows she sparked her interest.

“Oh, I can be good.”

She edges closer, golden—or godly—curls suddenly brushing against Blake’s bare arm.

“I can be _really_ good.”

And just when Blake is about to lose this round, overpowered by Yang’s burning gaze, Ruby saves the day. She barges in between them, spilling nonsense and clinging to her sister, obviously drunk.

“Alright kiddo,” Yang laughs while catching Ruby firmly, “time to go home.”

“Fiiiine… Sorry, Blake.”

“That’s alright.”

Truth be told, Blake has no idea why Ruby is apologizing. The next thing she knows, they’re all saying goodbye to each other, Jaune and Ruby swearing to the gods they’ll meet again real soon, while Nora is almost forcing her number in Ren’s phone, one of the fighters performing that night and a close friend of the sisters.

Yang and Blake don’t say goodbye to each other, not really. They lock eyes, longer than what would be considered appropriate, and Blake turns around first. They don’t need confirmation they’ll see each other again. It’s obvious. So obvious that by the time Blake has driven everyone home and is tucked to bed, Yang already sent her a few texts.

 **Yang [1:16] –** so. i think ruby is like… in love with all of your friends.

 **Yang [1:16] –** she keeps fangirling about them

 **Yang [1:16] –** i can’t even get her in the shower

 **Blake [1:21] –** Well, I do have great taste.

 **Yang [1:21] –** oh, I’m sure you taste great.

 _Dear_ _lord_ this woman will be the death of her. But she won’t go down without a fight. Literally.

 **Blake [1:21] –** Nice wit. But I’m straight, remember?

 **Yang [1:21] –** oops. my bad.

 **Yang [1:21] –** i totally forgot

 **Yang [1:22] –** might be the way you kept ogling me tonight

 **Blake [1:22] –** I did not.

Oh but she did. She completely did. And she’s not even sorry, but Yang doesn’t have to know that.

 **Blake [1:23] –** I’m going to sleep.

 **Yang [1:23] –** alright gorgeous. sleep tight!

 **Blake [1:23] –** Good night.

She turns off the light, rolls on her bed, ignores the wet warmth between her thighs and takes a long, long time to fall asleep. Later on, when she remembers that night, she’ll notice how she didn’t think about Sun once since she saw Yang for the first time, and how that might have been the first of many, many signs. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Kuchenjaeger for proofreading this chapter!
> 
> Also, you can find me on Tumblr (sodalayt).
> 
> Hope you enjoy chapter 2!

As it turns out, Blake does think about Sun the next morning, and afternoon, and evening. She’s consumed with guilt, about the way they broke up, about the way she was literally dripping in her pants for someone else not even two days later. She wants to know how he is doing, but wouldn’t dare to ask him directly, and she’s pacing restlessly in the living room when Weiss, trying to work at the dinner table, finally gives up. The heiress grumbles, angrily sends a few texts, waits for the answers, gets up and shoves her phone in Blake’s face.

“There. Neptune said Sun is alright. Eating properly. Taking care of himself. He had trouble sleeping for the past two nights, but nothing alarming. He’s _alright_ , Blake. It’s a breakup. It happens all the time, and yours wasn’t as ugly as you think it was. Sun is a nice, cheerful, pretty boy. He’ll get over it and find a sweet girl to fall in love with. And if he doesn’t, it’s because he and Neptune finally admitted they’re crazy for each other.”

Blake can’t help but laugh, can’t help but hug her best friend and thank her for being there.

“I told you you’ll get through this and you will. Speaking of… Would you please care to explain what the hell happened last night?”

“What are you talking about?” Blake plays dumb.

“I am talking about how obviously lust-struck you were for Yang. Did you forget she was a girl? Did your eyes and ears not work?”

Blake sighs, falls on the couch and bites her lip. One moment, she considers not telling Weiss anything. Keeping her private thoughts private, in a place she’d only share with fantasy Yang. But then she feels the icy glare of her roommate weighing on her and she surrenders.

“I’m so screwed, Weiss. She’s so… so… But she’s a girl! I’ve never been so… for a girl!”

“Speak with actual words, please?”

“She’s so hot and I can’t stop thinking about her fucking me.”

Weiss snorts. “That’s more like it. And why is that a problem exactly? Considering the way she was stripping you with her eyes last night, I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.”

“I told her I was straight.”

“An understandable mistake.”

“No, not a mistake. I mean I _know_ I’m crazy attracted to her so I might have to reconsider my whole sexuality, but I said it to… not be easy? She seems like the type who could get any girl—or boy—she wants and I don’t like being just anyone.”

“Oh, you’re playing hard to get! I like that, Blake. But then again, I don’t see where the problem is.”

“What if she grows tired of me? What if after two days of flirty attempts she just gives up and looks for someone easier?”

“Dear lord, you sound like a maiden in love,” Weiss mocks.

“It’s purely physical.” Blake takes her face in her hands and groans. “I should text her,” and her voice is muffled. “Yeah, I should text her. Ask her out or something. Fuck her once and get rid of… whatever this is.”

“It’s a wonder how someone can be so insecure and so confident at the same time,” Weiss teases. “And no, I don’t think it’s a good idea, thank you for asking. Look, you’re right. She’s dripping sex-appeal and she can probably date whoever she wants. But—for a reason beyond my comprehension—she seems to want you. And she wants you even if you’re playing hard to get. Or maybe because of it. So, my advice is: keep teasing her, but don’t give her what she wants. Not yet. She’ll be so hooked by the time you finally offer yourself to her she’ll probably play along with every fucked up sexual fantasy you have, for as long as you want.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m _always_ right, Blake.”

And as she turns around and sits back at the dinner table, Weiss adds nonchalantly, “Oh and… Don’t text her first today. Let her come to you. Show her _you’re_ the one in control.”

And so she does. Blake spends her Sunday fighting urges to text, call, send nudes to Yang, and Yang doesn’t message her either. When she goes to sleep, she thinks about how terrible Weiss’s advice was, and she tries not to panic about the idea that Yang might never contact her again, that she was never interested in the first place.

*

Today is Monday, and so begins a new week. Blake rarely gets the weekend off, usually on duty from Friday to Sunday night, and the past one was a welcome exception in her stressful work life. She had planned to fully enjoy it, celebrating with Sun, lazing in the mornings, maybe meet a few friends and, well, she did do all of that. Except it was nothing like she anticipated, and now she feels exhausted and restless all at once.

She’s on patrol duty the whole day with Pyrrha, and it goes quietly aside from a minor altercation with two men in the street who thought a police car was an invitation to spitting and cursing.

Her job is stressful, even in the calmest moments. There’s always a possibility of danger, and they can’t drop their guard, never. Fortunately, Pyrrha is the best partner anyone could ask for. Strong, smart, positive, calm and kindhearted. She helps Blake remain steady. They both help each other remain steady.

The day passes in the blink of an eye, and it’s only when she’s changing out of her uniform that Blake finally notices the three new messages on her phone.

 **Weiss [3:56] –** Did you steal my binder?

 _Why on earth_ would Blake steal a file full of confusing financial data?

 **Weiss [4:02] –** Found it, never mind.

She rolls her eyes. Typical Schnee. The last text is from Yang. Asking if she wants to grab lunch together tomorrow. So, Weiss’s advice _did_ work, to Blake’s delight. She responds quickly.

 **Blake [7:37] –** Meet me at 12:30 at The Atlas. I usually have lunch there during my break.

 **Yang [7:38] –** i’ll be there

 **Yang [7:38] –** will i finally find out about that mysterious job of yours?

 **Blake [7:38] –** Who knows?

 **Blake [7:39] –** Don’t be late.

 **Yang [7:39] –** bossy. i like it.

Blake doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t bother to hide her smile either. Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.

*

As she gets out of the police station for her lunch break, Blake tries to smother her nervousness. She’s faced criminals, _murderers_ even, without breaking a sweat, but now that she’s about to see Yang, she can’t keep her shit together? _Come on, Blake_. She checks her uniform one last time. Her midnight blue pants and long-sleeved shirt buttoned to the neck, her shiny badge high on her chest, her black necktie, her heavy belt carrying her gun, ammunition, radio, handcuffs, baton, knife, mace, flashlight and taser. She remembers complaining about the weight—nearly twenty pounds—when she entered the force. Now, she feels naked when she walks without it. She runs her hand through her hair, carefully tied in a bun, and takes a deep breath. She’s hot. She knows it. Should Yang have the tiniest uniform fetish, Blake’s sure to score some points. But that doesn’t keep her from fearing she won’t be hot enough for the kickboxer. Because what else is there? She won’t charm her with her personality; all of this is physical. Strictly, painfully physical.

She walks a few blocks and her train of thought nearly crashes when she spots Yang waiting in front of The Atlas. The fighter is leaning on a flashy yellow sports bike, aviator sunglasses on her nose, leather jacket open and revealing a white V-neck, jeans so skin-tight it should be illegal, and Blake almost has a heart-attack, has to stop for a while, to collect her breath and chase away her flush. _Be cool_.

She counts to ten, puts a bewitching smile on her face, crosses the street and walks straight towards Yang. And, oh, she should have recorded this.

Yang raises her head from her phone and takes her sunglasses off, her gaze spearing Blake to the core. And then the fighter looks down, down, down, taking in the uniform, lips parting more and more, cheeks crimsoning more and more, eyes burning so furiously lilac almost turns red.

“Blake.” Her voice is hoarse. “You… You’re… Fuck.”

Yang is quick to straighten herself and recover her composure, but not quick enough. Blake saw her expression and the way her whole body stiffened, she heard her voice, her words, her short breaths, and she’s thrilled. This time around, she has control, she holds the power, and it’s so satisfying her grin almost turns cruel.

“You’re a police officer,” Yang murmurs.

“Your reaction is priceless.”

The boxer’s composure wavers again.

“Well, I… I wasn’t expecting that. God, you’re… you’re…”

Yang swallows heavily, and Blake almost hears her thoughts. _Ridiculously attractive._

“A police officer,” Blake completes with a smirk.

Who knew torturing pretty girls could be so fulfilling?

“Shall we?” she offers while extending a graceful hand towards the restaurant. Yang just nods, eyes literally _devouring_ Blake, all of her, from head to toes. They find a secluded table in a corner and sit face to face.

“I actually don’t have much time,” Blake apologizes. “Around one hour.”

“That’s okay,” Yang smiles. “You’re busy saving the world after all!”

“It only happened once or twice.”

The fighter chortles before looking at her intently, a new kind of shimmer in her eyes that Blake can only define as a spark of surprise and wonder. As if she found a gold nugget without even looking for one. A waiter comes along, takes their order—tuna for Blake, one of her favorites, and a burger for Yang—and goes back to the kitchen. Blake looks around. She likes this place. It’s cozy, the food is good and cheap, and it’s far enough from the police station that she won’t risk bumping into one of her coworkers.

“So…” Yang leans slightly over the table, a (devilish) smile lingering on her (luscious) lips. “If I ever am in trouble, can I call you to the rescue, _officer_?”

Blake chuckles.

“After seeing you fight from up close, I highly doubt you would need my help.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. I wanted to see you in action.”

“I hope you never will.”

Blake doesn’t mean to sound cold. She’s just honest. Her job is too important, too real to forget. It’s more about catching the bad guys than saving the good ones, even if she tries too. Try, not succeed. Not always.

“I’m sorry,” Yang whispers. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s okay. I’m the one who’s sorry. I love my job, but sometimes it’s… consuming, you know? Usually I can laugh about it, but sometimes I just... I can’t.”

“That’s understandable.”

Blake looks at Yang, and all she sees are two purple oceans of concern and understanding. Suddenly, the woman facing her is more than a beautiful face and a sultry body. She’s a lake of emotions and empathy and openness and it’s like diving into the water after being burnt by the sun for too long.

“Alright!” Yang claps her hands. “New topic. Why did you break up with your boyfriend?”

Blake is so taken aback she laughs. “Do you really want to talk about my ex right now?”

“Why not? This—” she waves a hand between the two of them, “—is not a date. Because of the straight thing, remember?”

The straight thing. Blake laughs once more, bites her lip and nods.

“Yeah. It’s not a date.”

“Which means I’m here as a friend, and friends ask about this kind of stuff, right?”

“Irrefutable logic.” Blake mocks, but she complies. “Alright, I’ll grant you this one.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Not always.”

Yang’s eyes flicker, and suddenly everything’s back: the danger, the want, the tension.

“Innocent until proven guilty,” she suggests tentatively and Blake snickers.

“Do you really want me to prove that I can be unkind to you?”

“Hmm… Maybe another time, then. I presume it’ll take more than forty-five minutes.”

Oh, it would take _hours_ to prove to her how cruel Blake can be, how she can tie her wrists and ankles and leave her bare and imploring, how she can spark desire and never satisfy it. Blake swallows and only then notices Yang’s proud smirk. The fighter knows what’s playing inside her mind, and she’ll pay for that. But not today.

The waiter comes back with their plates, and they both take some time to savor the first bite before resuming the conversation.

“So. Your ex?”

Blake sighs. “My ex.” And so, she tells Yang everything, right from the start, right from Adam. How he became dangerously jealous and possessive, how he threatened her for weeks after they broke up, how depressed and somewhat scared she was, even with a gun in her safe, or maybe _because_ of the gun in her safe. She tells her about her encounter with Sun, his everlasting joy, his loyalty, the way he comforted her while Weiss was away, how he asked her out and she couldn’t refuse, because it made sense, because she needed him. How they dated for six months, always caring, always fond of each other, but without passion, without electricity in their sexual life, or even in their romantic one. How it took her so long to realize that, right from the start, she needed him as a friend and not as a lover. And how she broke up with him on their six-month anniversary, merely hours after she finally understood that their only future together was one of friendship and nothing else.

Yang is a good listener. She’s a good listener because _she cares_ and she shows it, through her soft-hearted looks, through the gentleness of her voice when she asks questions, through the little twitch of her fingers when she hears about Adam and his abusive tendencies. Yang is a good listener and it slowly sets something in motion in Blake’s stomach, a growing and unstoppable force that will—one day, she knows—conquer her chest, her throat, her mind, her heart.

When they get out of the restaurant, Blake feels light-headed, in a strange and good way.

“So,” Yang murmurs, a hand on her bike’s seat, gaze languidly flowing from Blake’s eyes to her lips, before trailing back up. “This was fun.”

“Really? Because I only talked about me.”

“Yes, and I liked it. We should do it again.”

“Maybe next time _you’ll_ tell me all about your exes.”

Yang laughs, and Blake can’t tear her gaze from her newly exposed throat. The fighter catches her eyes, and there is that dark smile again, wicked, certain, a promise of all the damages she could do, of everything she could capture and ravish if Blake let her guard down for more than a second. She takes a step forward, just like in the locker room the night they met, and suddenly all Blake can see, hear, _smell_ is her. Yang raises a hand, brushes Blake's necktie with her fingertips, tilts her head, and Blake might as well collapse from anticipation. Yang slowly, excruciatingly slowly, grabs her necktie and _pulls_ , dragging her towards her.

Dear _lord_.

They’re inches apart. Yang’s breath is moist and warm and sweet and _fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Kiss me._ But she doesn’t. Instead, she straightens Blake’s necktie and smiles coyly.

“It was starting to get loose.”

Yang steps back, leaving Blake cold and confused, straddles her bike and puts her helmet on.

“See you soon, gorgeous.”

The bike roars and suddenly Blake is alone, heart throbbing, panties ruined, and she knows she spectacularly lost this round.

*

Thursday night is game night. It’s a tradition Weiss and Blake established the moment they moved in together, and they organize one every time their busy schedules allow it. There’s safeness in all of this, in sharing an evening with close friends, cheap pizzas, fancy wine, and Blake adores it. Tonight is a little different, though, because it will be the first time she’ll see Sun since their breakup. Weiss didn’t even ask if she should invite him; it was obvious. Blake wants him here. She wants to chat and tease and laugh with him, she wants him in her life. And in the long run, she hopes Sun will want her in his life too.

So when the doorbell rings, she’s suddenly anxious. Everybody already arrived: Pyrrha, Nora, Jaune and Neptune. Everybody but Sun. Blake gestures Weiss to sit back down and walks to the door. She doesn’t know how to greet him. Should she hug him? Should she smile? Gosh, breakups are a pain. She takes a deep breath and finally opens the door.

For a second there, she thinks she actually blacks out. Ruby, Ren and Yang are smiling at her, and Blake stands silently for way, way too long, mouth slightly open, until Ruby laughs and invites herself in her home with high-pitched exclamations. Ren follows, faintly inclining his head as a salute, and disappears in the living room.

“Weiss didn’t tell you we were coming, did she?” Yang notes, amused.

“She did not.”

Weiss is _so_ dead. No more free pass for the Schnee heiress, this war is on.

“You don’t seem that happy to see us,” Yang points out, very much less amused.

“It’s not that.”

Blake glances at the front-yard, dreading to spot Sun’s car in the shadows of the street.

“My ex will be here too,” she finally confesses.

“So?” Yang smirks. “What does it have to do with us? We’re _friends_ , right?”

Blake’s heart skips a beat and she curses herself for the slip-up.

“Yes, we’re friends. _Especially_ tonight.” She gives the fighter a warning glare and gently pushes her in before closing the door. Yang contemplates the large corridor, raises an eyebrow at the three abstract paintings displayed on the wall, peeks through the right door to glance at the luxurious kitchen and progresses towards the living room. Her shoulders slump at the sight. It’s gigantic, modern, all comfy couches, designer furniture and green plants. Yang turns to Blake, awe widening her eyes.

“I mean… The house looked big from the outside but…”

“It’s Weiss’s. I’m just a longtime freeloader.”

“God, where do I sign?”

Blake laughs. She guides her to the cheery group of people already arguing over what kind of music they should play in the background and Yang sits next to her sister.

“Weiss? A word?” Blake’s tone leaves no room for refusal. The heiress complies, eyes already narrowing, and they retreat into the kitchen.

“Before you say anything,” Weiss argues while raising her hands, “it wasn’t exactly my idea.”

“And whose was it?”

“Nora’s. And Jaune’s.”

“And why on earth did you agree?”

“Oh, yeah, my bad. I should have told them I can’t invite Yang here because you’re so horny you might jump her right in front of Sun!”

Blake rolls her eyes, Weiss rolls her eyes back, and they both sigh heavily.

“Look,” the Schnee heiress mumbles, “I actually think it’s a good thing that they’re here. I like them. Ren, Ruby _and_ Yang. It’s good for us, to meet new people. And you know I’ve been looking for new friends ever since I got stuck between Nora and Jaune in the car when we went to the Amity Colosseum.”

Blake actually smiles, even though she was dead set on sulking so hard Weiss would have to apologize.

“Still, you could have warned me.”

“And hear about your endless complaints all day long? I don’t think so.”

Before Blake can think of a smart comeback to shut her roommate’s insolent mouth, the doorbell rings again.

“Go to him,” Weiss encourages. “You should be the one welcoming him here. And as for Yang, don’t stare at her too much while Sun is here and you’ll be fine.”

As Blake moves towards the front door, she hears Yang’s laugh traveling from the living room, and she knows it will be a long, long night.

*

Sun always has been, and always will be, one of the kindest people Blake knows. Not only did he give her a long, warm and gentle hug, he also told her he understood her decision, that it was the right one, and that he needed a bit of time to get there but he would definitely, absolutely, irrevocably be her friend again.

Now they’re all sitting in the living room around the coffee table, comfy on the couches and on the huge pillows scattered on the floor. They haven’t even started a game yet. They just chat and get to know each other, and it’s so very pleasant and drama-free Blake can’t quite believe it. She catches Yang glancing at Sun once or twice, but nothing obvious. Sun seems to enjoy his night, genuinely laughing with Neptune and Ruby, and Blake thinks that maybe, maybe, everything will be okay.

They already knocked back two bottles of wine—except for Yang who’s sticking to water—and so the officer gets up and heads to the kitchen to get a few more bottles from the electric cellar. Weiss stores quite the expensive collection and is always more than happy to share with her friends, and Blake actually blames her for ruining cheap wine for her and overall giving her luxurious tastes for trivial things.

“Need a hand?”

The sensual voice caresses her neck, rolls on her chest, teases her stomach, and Blake bites her lip so hard it pains her. She doesn’t turn around. She can’t face Yang right now, not when they’re both alone, not when she sounds so, _so_ erotic.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Weiss sends me, actually.”

Of course she sent her.

“Something about bringing more wine glasses if you’re switching to white because, and I quote, ‘mixing red wine and white wine is a crime that should be punishable by death’.”

Blake giggles, finally swirls, meets Yang’s eyes and _fuck_. She is devastating. So damn sexy, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, arms crossed over her orange shirt unbuttoned just enough that it reveals a hint of black lace. She wears that confident smile, curled in one corner of her lips, so heated it matches the ember glowing in her purple eyes.

Blake swallows hard, puts two bottles on the counter and opens a closet above her head to retrieve a few glasses.

“Here, let me help,” Yang purrs, and she stands right behind her, stretches her arm above Blake's shoulder and grabs a glass. Her chest brushes her back, her breath grazes her ear, her warmth drowns her whole body, and it’s all so much Blake shudders violently and accidentally smashes a glass on the counter.

“Shit!”

She snaps her hand up and already blood is sliding between her fingers.

“Oh fuck,” Yang gasps. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Yang laughs, but it’s tainted with care and worry.

They’re interrupted by Weiss barging in, a concerned look on her face growing to stupor when she takes in the scattered glass on the floor and the blood dripping on her roommate’s wrist.

“Oh my—What happened? Let me take care of this mess, go patch yourself up.”

“Sorry Weiss.”

“Go!”

“I feel responsible,” Yang confesses, and Blake already knows what comes next. “I’ll go with her.”

The fighter gets out of the kitchen first, and as Blake walks past Weiss, her friend shoots her eyebrows up and silently articulates, “Do. Not. Fuck. In. The. Bathroom.”

“I swear to God, Weiss…” Blake mumbles, but she hurries so that the heiress wouldn’t notice her burning cheeks.

Already waiting in the corridor, Yang lets her take the lead. Blake guides her to the end of the hallway and soon they enter a spacious bathroom whose main center piece is a gigantic bathtub sinking into the floor.

“Is Weiss a multimillionaire or something?” Yang marvels.

“Well, she is Weiss Schnee after all.”

“Schnee? As in the Schnee Company?”

“Yup!”

“Oh.”

“Yup.”

Blake barely notices Yang closing the door as she rummages through the medicine cabinet, snatches some disinfectant and a gauze, and leans over the sink to clean her wound with cold water.

“Does it hurt?” Yang asks while getting closer.

“A little. But I’ve been through worse.”

She shakes her wet hand and takes the disinfectant, but Yang gently grabs her wrist and she freezes.

“Wait,” Yang murmurs.

Her thumb strokes her skin and Blake can suddenly feel her own pulse throbbing in her wounded fingertip. Yang slowly raises her hand, inspects it, soft and careful, and keeps raising it until it’s barely an inch from her mouth.

“What are you doing?” Blake whispers as panic shortens her breath.

“Did you know saliva has healing properties?”

Her lips skim the officer’s finger and, just like in the kitchen, Blake shudders. Except this time she can’t count on a broken glass to get her out of trouble.

“I did… _not??”_

She almost shrieks her last word as Yang unhurriedly licks Blake’s cut, her tongue pink and wet.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

But Yang isn’t done yet. Of course she’s not. She pierces Blake with her burning gaze and, slowly, she starts sucking her injured finger, wrapping her lips, tongue, mouth around it until it’s three knuckles deep. And it’s so moist and warm and libidinous that a groan escapes Blake’s throat. Yang’s pupils dilate, her tongue swirls around her finger as she sucks harder, and all of this is so sexual Blake might as well stop pretending to be straight because she has to be the worst actress that has ever existed in this world. She’s _dripping_ , so fucking hard she can smell her own arousal, and that thought drenches her even more.

But then, Yang smirks. Proud. Winning yet another round. Blake rips her hand out of the fighter’s mouth and shoots a tempestuous glare at her.

“That was not a very _friendly_ move.”

“And that was not a very _straight_ reaction.”

And oh, how Blake wants to bite those pretty lips until all Yang can articulate are moans and curses. But she can’t, not when someone knocks on the door and asks, “Blake, are you okay? Weiss told me you cut yourself.”

She recognizes Jaune’s voice, gives one last threatening look to Yang, whose smile only stretches, and opens the door.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

But Jaune is already taking her hand and examining her finger with expert eyes.

“We _meticulously_ cleaned the wound,” Yang informs in a mischievous voice, and her gaze is blazing with amusement and provocation. Blake rolls her eyes but bites her bottom lip to hide her smile.

“It’s deep, but I don’t think it will need stitches. Here, let me take care of it.”

He works so fast and so precisely Yang drops the act for a second and throws a questioning glare at Blake.

“Jaune is a paramedic,” she says with a soft smile.

“Oh! That’s awesome, dude. Did you two meet on duty?”

Blake and Jaune share a look, and he’s the one answering while carefully fastening the gauze around his friend’s finger.

“Yes, actually. I got a call two years ago for a shooting incident, with a few minor injuries, a few serious ones… It was a mess. Blake was there when I arrived.”

He leaves it at that, as always when people ask about how they met. The rest is Blake’s to share, and she doesn’t feel like it right now. It’s not that she doesn’t want to tell Yang, because she does. She trusts her, for an inexplicable reason. But she’d rather have that discussion when they’re both alone, lying naked together under a dim light, thoughtlessly stroking each other’s hair while recovering their breath and _dear God what is she even thinking about?_

“All done!” Jaune smiles, completely oblivious to her sudden agitation.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Now let’s go back. I left Nora and Ren alone on the couch and I’m pretty sure she’ll scare him away if we don’t do a bit of damage control.”

The three of them laugh, because it’s obvious Nora is crushing hard on the guy and he’s a little less enthusiastic than her about it all. As they get out of the bathroom, Blake actually convinces herself this time was a draw; Yang did unsettle her, crushing her barriers one by one and almost reaching her I-don’t-give-a-shit-anymore-let’s-fuck button, but she managed to retreat at the last second and to save what little pride she had left.

As if she’s reading her mind, Yang leans from behind and whispers in her ear, low enough that Jaune wouldn’t hear her, “Too bad we got interrupted. I have a feeling the rest of our conversation would have been... intense.”

Blake unconsciously slows down, jaw tightening so hard her teeth hurt. Yang walks past her, laughing lightly, and Blake closes her eyes and pinches her lips as she internally admits that, no, this was definitely not a draw, but another grade A victory for Yang.

*

It’s barely 10 pm when Yang, Ruby and Ren take their leave. Yang has another kickboxing match tomorrow night at the Colosseum and she wants to be well-rested.

“It’s been a rough week,” she confides in Blake when the officer sees them to their car, Ren and Ruby dawdling behind them while chatting with Jaune, Nora and Pyrrha. “I had my fight last Saturday, then three days of shooting with some pretty intense stunts, all while practicing like crazy for tomorrow’s match. I swear, after that I’m going to sleep for a decade.”

Blake chuckles.

“Do you want to come?” Yang asks softly.

Well. Yeah. Blake did since the moment she first saw her.

“Tomorrow,” the blond goddess clarifies.

“I wish I could.” She really, really did. “But I’m on duty tomorrow evening.”

“Maybe next time, then.”

“Didn’t you say you’d sleep for a decade after tomorrow?” Blake teases.

Yang smiles, lowers her voice, and her husky murmur sends a shiver down the Blake's spine.

“Oh, I’m pretty certain you could keep me up for a decade.”

How can she answer _that_? She can barely maintain a straight face as it is (in every sense of the word). She suddenly remembers how Yang _sucked_ her finger in the bathroom, with eyes so provoking she might as well have undressed and spread her bare legs for Blake, and her whole body tightens with a burst of arousal. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yang, whose grin turns so arrogant the officer burns to arrest her right here, right now.

Ruby and Ren finally join them, and Yang winks before opening the driver’s door and sitting behind the wheel.

When the car disappears down the street, Blake is still standing in the front yard, mouth dry, heart pounding, pride crushed. Yang is toying with her. Yang thinks Blake will soon be one of her “pretty girls”. Yang knows she’d just have to crook a finger to have the officer crawling towards her. Well, not anymore. It’s time Blake started getting the upper hand.

It’s time she fought back.

*

And sure enough, the opportunity arises the following day. It’s 5 pm. Blake just ended her patrol and has a one-hour break before starting her night shift, and she’s almost dozing on the sofa of the station’s lounge when her phone vibrates in her pocket.

 **Yang [5:03] –** blake, help

 **Yang [5:03] –** i need you

Well, she’s fully awake now.

 **Blake [5:03] –** What is it?

 **Yang [5:03] –** you’re used to nerve-racking situations, right?

 **Yang [5:03] –** being a police officer and all

 **Blake [5:03] –** I suppose I am. Why?

 **Yang [5:04] –** my fight is in 3 hours and i’m nervous as fuck

 **Yang [5:04] –** i’m literally shaking

Blake doesn’t know her since that long, but even though this anxiousness seems quite out of character.

 **Blake [5:04] –** How come?

 **Blake [5:04] –** You were so confident when I saw you fight last Saturday.

 **Yang [5:04] –** that’s because I wasn’t facing emerald

 **Yang [5:05] –** i swear this girl is a freaking ninja

 **Yang [5:05] –** i fought her two years ago and she beat the crap out of me

 **Blake [5:05] –** I’m sure you improved since then. You have all your chances.

 **Yang [5:05] –** i know! but it won’t do shit if i’m this nervous mess.

 **Yang [5:05] –** i tried taking a bath

 **Yang [5:06] –** never did something so ineffective in my life

Blake snorts. How can someone be this grumpy and endearing at the same time?

 **Yang [5:06] –** i know it’s nothing like what you go through on the field, but I could use some badass policewoman’s advice

 **Yang [5:06] –** how do you deal with it? the wait. the stress.

Blake ponders for a while. This, right there, is the _perfect_ opportunity to teach Yang a lesson. She nips her lip, checks the time, fidgets on the couch. She’s already up and getting out of the lounge by the time she sends her message.

 **Blake [5:07] –** Text me your address.

*

She doesn’t bring all of her gear with her, only keeps her gun and her handcuffs. She’s technically off duty for an hour, but she’s getting out in her uniform and she won’t take the chance to become an easy and unarmed target.

Right before buzzing the intercom of the nicely situated building where Yang lives, Blake unties her hair—she always wears it in a tight bun on duty—loosens her necktie and undoes the top button of her officer shirt. Yang won’t even know what hit her. Finally, she calls through the intercom.

“Yes?” Yang’s voice crackles from the metal box.

“It’s Blake.”

“I live on the fourth floor.”

The main door unlocks and Blake enters the hall. She unhurriedly climbs the stairs, a strong resolve steadying her pace and her heart rate. She knows where she is going. She knows why she’s here. Yang won all the previous rounds. She won the night they met. She won at the restaurant three days ago. She won in the bathroom yesterday.

She’ll win no more.

Blake will make her regret toying with her. She will give her a taste and make her _beg_ for more. She will take control.

She knocks twice, crooks her thumbs around her belt and waits. A moment later, Yang opens the door, offering her a wide smile that slowly fades as her eyes slide from Blake’s dangerous stare to her exposed pale throat, her loose tie and the police uniform fitting her perfectly. It takes her a second too long before snapping her eyes back up.

“You really came,” Yang says, voice hoarse.

“Well, you asked for my help.” Blake replies. She enters the apartment, briefly notices the hard wood floor, the windows open and the transparent curtains floating under a light breeze. She turns around just in time to see Yang closing the door, eyes still hooked on Blake. She’s barefoot, wearing a simple white tank and black shorts, and she’s more gorgeous than ever.

“Is Ruby here?” Blake asks; Yang told her they live together.

“No, she’s meeting me at the Colosseum tonight. But more importantly, are you finally going to share your secret police technique to help me get rid of this stupid nervousness?”

“Oh, it is not a secret, even though most people tend to forget it. And it definitely is not a police technique.”

Blake takes a step forward and Yang freezes almost imperceptibly. She thinks about yesterday. About Yang’s tongue on her skin. About the lust devouring her eyes as she sucked her finger. About the cocky smile on her face when she realized how turned on Blake was. She takes another step forward. Yang is so close she can hear her sharp breath. And Blake feels so powerful she smiles. Cruelly. Wickedly.

“Did you know orgasms have excellent stress relief properties?”

Yang’s lips part slightly from shock, and before she can say anything Blake presses her hands on the fighter’s hips, pushes her against the wall, and Yang gasps, fingers instinctively gripping the other woman’s wrists.

“Do _not_ fight me, Yang,” Blake threatens, voice low and dark. “I am a trained police officer and I won’t hesitate to fight back.”

Yang loosens her grip and exhales a sobbing breath, pupils so blown there’s no purple left, only darkness so violently bright it could be a sun, a fiery black sun.

“You like that, uh?” Blake whispers in her ear. “Being pinned against a wall. Being restrained.”

She slides her knee between Yang’s legs and almost gasps at the sensation. Even with their clothes on, it’s so warm, so different, so inviting. But Blake remains unflappable. She’s in charge. She’s in charge, Yang is now panting and shivering and _fuck fuck fuck_. It’s so much better than anything she could have imagined, so exciting and intoxicating, and she wants more.

She wants Yang.

Blake removes her hands, clutches Yang’s wrists and presses them on the wall while pushing her leg harder against the her crotch. Yang huffs, eyes wild and hungry.

“Answer me, Yang.”

“I… I…”

Blake leans down and bites her neck, hard enough it would hurt a little.

“Oh _God_ ,” Yang moans. “Fuck, Blake, yes. I like it. I love it.”

“Good girl,” Blake purrs. “You’re getting a reward.”

She falls on her knees, dexterously unbuttons Yang’s shorts and rips them off.

“Fuck,” Yang curses again and Blake raises her eyes to meet hers.

She's outrageously erotic, her pretty face twisted with want and arousal, her golden curls cascading on her chest, her eyes _begging_ her to keep going. Blake trails her gaze back down, back to Yang’s simple black underwear. She can smell her. And fuck, it smells good, sweet and sour, addicting. She moves her face closer, drawn by the scent and the promise of everything it suggests, and finally, finally, she kisses Yang.

Or rather, she kisses her soaked panties.

Yang arches against her mouth and immediately grabs the officer’s hair into her fists. Blake can taste her through the fabric, and she wants more, she wants more, she wants more. She almost tears Yang’s underwear, forcefully shoving it at her feet and throwing it away, and draws a shuddering breath at the sight of blond curls darkened and drenched with arousal.

Only now does Blake realize she actually has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never been with a girl. She’s _straight_ , as she likes to remind the half-naked goddess panting over her. But even if she doesn’t know anything about sapphic sex, she doesn’t care. She’s not doing this to please Yang. She’s doing this to please herself.

So, selfishly, unhesitatingly, she buries herself between Yang’s legs and licks her in one long, intent swipe that draws a broken moan from Yang’s lips. And it’s so fucking _delicious_ Blake shivers, unconsciously grabs the other girl’s ass as she rests her forehead on her pubis and breathes, “God, you taste so good.” She dives back in, her tongue sliding along Yang’s slit a few times before circling around her clit in a slow and regular motion. Yang convulses, starts rocking her hip to increase the pressure, pants, moans, clenches her fists on Blake’s hair and pushes her face harder against her crotch, and it’s so fucking hot and primal Blake lets out a guttural groan.

She starts sucking Yang’s clit, looks up, and the sight of the woman half bent over her almost makes her come on the spot. Yang looks _ravished_. Cool demeanor destroyed. Her arrogance died with her self-control and her pride, and all that remains are loud moans and eyes hypnotized by the sight of Blake eating her out in her police uniform. Fuck. Blake wants her to come. There, in her mouth, while staring at her and screaming her name.

So she sucks harder. And because Yang literally whimpers and tightens her grip on her hair, Blake knows she likes it. And fuck, she’s not doing this to please herself anymore. She wants, she _needs_ Yang to feel so good she’ll never forget her, so good she’ll come begging for more, every day for the rest of her life.

“Fuck, Blake, keep going, keep going, keep going.”

Blake obeys, relishing the taste, the sounds, her name on Yang’s tongue, her tongue on Yang’s sex, and she moans when Yang’s hips grind roughly on her mouth one last time, when Yang slams the wall with her hand and unleashes a bestial shout, when she orgasms so hard a flow of thick fluid gushes on Blake’s chin.

They stay still for a while, both panting, Yang absentmindedly caressing Blake’s hair, Blake absentmindedly kissing Yang’s inner thigh.

Finally, she rises on her feet, and they’re so close the world stops existing for a second. Yang looks at her, awe growing in her eyes. She carefully grabs Blake’s necktie and, softly, she pulls her towards her. And as she leans in for a kiss, a real one, their first one, Blake presses a gentle hand on her chest to stop her.

“No,” she whispers.

Yang slightly frowns and Blake summons all of her will to take a step back. She has yet to teach her a lesson.

“This,” she vaguely gestures between them, “was me helping you as a friend.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Yang stares at her with an incredulous expression.

Blake adjusts her uniform, wipes her chin with the back of her hand and glances at her watch.

“My shift starts in 20 minutes. I have to go.”

She walks towards the front door and Yang is so stunned she doesn’t say anything until Blake grabs the knob.

“Wait. Blake. No way.”

She finally leans away from the wall but doesn’t move further.

“You drove here so that you could fuck me for ten minutes and then leave?”

Blake looks her up and down, takes in the sight of her bare legs and her bare crotch, of her wet arousal shimmering between her thighs.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

Yang opens her lips, closes them, swallows.

“I… I don’t.”

Blake smirks, opens the door.

“Good luck tonight,” she says lightly.

“Uh? Oh, yeah, my fight. Thanks,” Yang mutters.

And as Blake closes the door and walks down the stairs, she feels both extremely satisfied and horribly frustrated.

Later that night, her phone vibrates on her desk. She puts down the robbery report she was filing and checks her messages.

 **Yang [11:44] –** i won the match.

Blake bites her bottom lip, proud of Yang, of herself, and when she responds she feels like she’s the one who won a fight today.

 **Blake [11:44] –** Good girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the shameless smut begins.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a detailed description of a house fire, and the loss that can come with it.
> 
> Also, HUGE THANK YOU to the wonderful softlight for proofreading this chapter!

“Did you know Ruby wants to become a cook?”

Blake puts her book on her chest and looks at Weiss, nonchalantly sipping her wine while sitting on the armchair.

“How do you even know that?”

“She told me. We text sometimes.”

Blake lifts an eyebrow, a mocking smirk stretching her lips.

“Never in a million years would I have guessed you and Ruby would become friends.”

“I’m pretty sure you thought exactly the same thing about you and me, and yet here you are, enjoying _my_ comfy couch under _my_ fancy roof.”

“Touché.”

Silence falls again in the living room. Blake resumes her reading, and not even ten seconds later she sits up straight and shoots an annoyed glare at Weiss, who’s still nursing her white wine with false innocence.

“Okay, _why_ did you tell me that?”

“I don’t know, I thought you might appreciate having some information about your girlfriend’s sister.”

Blake groans and falls back on the couch. “She’s not my girlfriend, _god_. You’re impossible.”

“No, you dunce. I’m _realistic_.”

“You’ve never heard the expression ‘casual sex’ before?”

“Not coming from you, no.” Weiss puts her glass on the coffee table, a challenging spark in her eyes. “So you’re telling me you don’t have any feelings for her?”

“I don’t.”

“Even though you almost risked being late for your shift so that you could—and I quote—‘eat her out in order to help her relax for her fight’? I mean, what kind of excuse is that!”

“Just facts,” Blake mumbles.

She doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s unnerved, even, to talk about it. Not because she’s ashamed or afraid of Yang’s inevitable retaliation, but because she wants more. She wants to go back there and take her, again and again, and that unexpected addiction shakes her to her core. She thought it would go away. She thought once they’d fucked, she would have gotten it out of her system and she would have been able to move on. But no. They didn’t even properly have sex yet, and already Blake craves to do Yang again, in the exact same way and in a million different ways. Their encounter last Friday detonated her hunger, for Yang, for her body, her skin, her taste, her voice, her moans, her cries. Blake is hungry for a greed she can’t comprehend, and she’s terrified she’ll never feel satiated again.

So, no. She doesn’t have feelings for Yang, because Blake has loved before and it was certain, steady and strong. _This_ , whatever it may be, is nothing like love. _This_ is unstable, always morphing into new shapes and colors, always burning brighter. _This_ is a carnal desire consuming her every thought, and never in her life has she lusted after someone that much.

“You do remember that she’ll be here tonight for game night, right?” Weiss asks innocently, and oh, isn’t she being a little prick right now.

“Of course I remember, Weiss. Okay, what is it that you _really_ want?” Blake grumbles because she knows her roommate is up to something.

“No sex in the common areas. No, scratch that, no sex while we have guests.”

“Dammit, Weiss, who do you think I am? I can keep it in my pants!”

Well. She can try. She hasn’t seen Yang since their little… relaxation session, and she’s not sure how her body will react when they are in the same room again.

“You know,” Weiss mutters when she notices the dangerous sparkle in Blake’s eyes, “I’m starting to miss Sun. You two were so boring in bed I never had to worry about bumping into your naked ass in the living room or on the kitchen counter.”

Alright, that’s it. First chance she gets tonight, Blake is going to fuck Yang in Weiss’s bedroom.

*

They’ve been playing a strategy board game for about fifteen minutes now and, unsurprisingly, Blake is the first eliminated. It’s not that she’s bad at it, it’s just that the others are way, way too invested. She graciously accepts the fatal blow, delivered by a raging Ruby apparently determined to conquer them all, and leans against her chair. The next ten minutes are chaotic, to say the least, with Yang constantly nagging her sister and ultimately incurring Ruby’s wrath. The red-haired girl goes all in, spends nearly all her resources on her military, deploys her armies and annihilates Yang in two shakes.

“There! Serves you right, you unworthy sister! No one defies Ruby the Huntress and stays alive long enough to tell the tale!”

Yang laughs and ruffles her sister’s hair. “Yeah, yeah kiddo, you’re the best.”

Afterwards, she silently watches the game for two more minutes before glancing at Blake, the shadow of a suspicious smile coloring her lips.

“Now that I think about it, Blake, you never gave me the tour. Wanna show me around the house?”

Blake’s eyes widen before she pulls herself together and puts back on a neutral expression.

“Sure.”

She stands up, Yang too, and all of this goes unnoticed by everyone except, predictably, by Weiss; she stares at her roommate so hard it gives Blake a headache. As they both leave the living room, Blake hears Sun’s victorious shout, followed by Nora’s exaggerated laments, but soon enough all of her friends’ racket fades away, her brain solely focusing on Yang’s presence right behind her. For two full seconds, she thinks about her earlier resolve and almost drags her into Weiss’s bedroom, but she eventually chases that idea away. As much as she’d love to get back at her roommate (and best friend, she should recall), she also wants to protect Sun. She can’t hurt him, not more than she already has.

“So…” Yang whispers in her ear. “Where are you taking me first?” Well, shit. Her voice is too sultry, too calculated, too confident, and the double entendre too obvious. Yang wants revenge, and she wants it now. “Or,” she murmurs while getting closer, her breasts pressing on Blake’s back, “ _I_ could take you here. I don’t mind. But you’ll have to keep your voice down.”

“My room,” Blake blurts out.

She’s already walking towards the stairs, ears burning red, throat dry and heart beating way too fast. She did a pretty good job behaving herself so far, only glancing at Yang a few times tonight (the fighter looks disturbingly sexy in her skimpy jean shorts and black off-the-shoulder sweater, and Blake should win a fucking award for not ogling her all night long), but she can’t be expected to keep her stoic mask on now that they’re alone and, most of all, now that Yang is explicitly talking about screwing her. She climbs to the second floor, enters her room, and turns around to throw an accusing stare at Yang.

“You lost on purpose, didn’t you?”

Yang smiles evilly.

“Ruby is so sensitive, it was almost too easy to make her focus on me.”

“You wanted to be alone with me that badly?”

Yang laughs and, dear lord, isn’t she the most beautiful thing Blake has ever laid her eyes on.

“There’s a saying, you know? ‘A debt paid is a friend kept.’ I want to keep you as my friend, so…”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I beg to differ,” she counters, voice deep and powerful. “I owe you a kickboxing victory. And some vivid memories I definitely _did not_ use to touch myself every night since it happened.”

Jesus, the things she _says_. Yang isn’t smiling. She’s standing in the doorway, commanding, magnificent, olympian. All gleaming blonde hair, strong body, and confident pose. Her eyes are dark, resolute. Last time, Blake caught her off guard. Today, Yang seems determined to wreak revenge on her. Today, she’ll win the fight, and Blake already knows there’s nothing she could do to prevent it.

Yang grabs the doorknob, her steely gaze never leaving Blake's.

“Don’t,” Blake breathes, warmth already spreading between her legs. “Don’t close the door.”

It’s her last defense, her last chance to delay the inevitable, even if she secretly and deeply hopes it won’t hold. Because how could she deny Yang, when she looks at her like that, like she’s about to crush her, possess her, consume her? How could she deny Yang, fiery, burning Yang, when her hands and mouth and body are the only things in this world that could cool Blake’s skin, ease her pain, soothe her torments?

Yang releases the doorknob, leaves the door open. 

“You want to play with fire?” she purrs. “Fine.”

She walks towards Blake, one unhurried step after the other, her dangerous aura thickening each passing second, and she halts inches away from her. Blake remembers Yang’s flavor clearly, as if she just went down on her. She wonders how Yang’s lips taste. Like a blend of flowers and steel, maybe. Something soft and sharp at the same time. Comforting and unsafe.

Slowly, Yang starts undoing Blake’s belt, and the officer stops breathing.

“I’m…”

“Straight, I know.” Yang interrupts. “I finally understood that the moment you dropped on your knees to lick me to orgasm.”

She yanks the leather from the buckle and Blake gasps. Downstairs, their friends burst out laughing. She hears someone, maybe Neptune, yelling something from the kitchen. She knows it’s a matter of minutes before they finish the game and come looking for them. She knows she has to stop Yang. 

The fighter unbuttons her pants, drags the zipper down, revealing the red lace underwear Blake might have put on in anticipation of a situation very much like this one. She takes a second to admire the view, dark eyes flashing with satisfaction, and slides two long, steady fingers under the fabric. 

Blake snatches her wrist, stops her from diving deeper.

“If you don’t want to do this, we won’t. You can say no anytime.” Yang murmurs, and there’s no judgement nor disappointment in her tone, just a trembling desire she’s trying to hide to reassure Blake.

And because of that, because suddenly Yang has turned consent into the sexiest thing in the world, Blake locks eyes with her, squeezes her wrist and pushes her hand deeper in her underwear. They both part their lips as Yang’s fingers caress the trimmed hairs on her mound, the bulge of her clit, the thick wetness of her folds. It feels so right Blake almost forgets about the eight people still battling downstairs.

Yang doesn’t take her eyes off hers, not for one second. Her breath quickens, her movements too. Her fingers brush, rush, push. They dip into Blake and Blake grabs her arms, so soft and strong under the fabric of her shirt, to hold steady. She almost moans. Almost cries. Because it’s too much and not enough at the same time, because she can’t take it and she wants more, more, more. She wants Yang’s whole fingers, their full length inside her, but the Yang's hand is trapped in her tight pants and she can’t plunge lower.

Blake’s fingers slide higher, explore Yang’s shoulders, her neck, her ears, her jaw. Her lips. She’d die to kiss them. But now is not the time.

They’re still looking intensely at each other, greed consuming their gaze. Yang speeds up, two fingers diving one knuckle deep before retreating and slamming back in, and Blake chokes on a moan. More. More. More. She wants so much more.

“Close the door,” she whispers.

Yang slows down, stops, withdraws her hand. She takes a few steps back, eyes never leaving Blake, like a hawk hunting her prey. When she reaches the doorway, she smiles, and it’s so ruthless Blake’s heart sinks into her stomach. 

Yang sucks her wet fingers, one by one, before suggesting, “We should go back to your guests.”

When she turns around and disappears in the corridor, Blake feels so frustrated and enraged she might cry.

*

When they leave, Yang gives her a hug. It’s not much. Just a quick embrace, a feathery brush of lips on her cheek, ghosts of fingers lingering on her lower back. It’s not much, and yet it holds an unprecedented intimacy, a different warmth, softer, deeper, scarier. It promises more. And it numbs Blake, to the point her heart rate slows, to the point she briefly closes her eyes and relaxes in Yang’s arms. It frightens her. It comforts her. 

_She_ comforts her.

Yang leans back, lips skimming Blake’s ear, breath cold as she whispers, “I can’t wait to fuck you senseless.”

Blake's legs almost give out. 

*

When she goes to bed, thoughts of Yang obsess her. Yang’s words. Yang’s embrace. Yang’s lips, Yang’s fingers, Yang’s smile. It’s all Yang, Yang, _Yang_ , and the more she thinks about her, the more frustrated she becomes. She’s already flat on her stomach, a hand roaming between her thighs and teeth biting her pillow when her phone lights up the dark room. Before she even looks at the screen, she knows Yang texted her. She keeps her hand under her, snatches the device with the other one, unlocks it and _holy shit_.

It’s a picture; Yang is wearing black lingerie, panties lowered just enough for blonde hairs to peek out of the lace, bra way, _way_ too revealing, a provocative smile half-bitten by white teeth.

 **Yang [0:43] –** in case you need help to finish yourself

Does she have a fucking wanking radar or something? Not that Blake complains. This will _definitely_ help her. But first, she needs to set things straight.

 **Blake [0:44] –** I am not masturbating over you, Yang.

 **Yang [0:44] –** you should 

**Yang [0:44] –** i can’t stop thinking about you

 **Yang [0:44] –** about the face you made when I touched you

 **Yang [0:44] –** god

 **Yang [0:44] –** i can’t wait to hear you moan

 **Yang [0:45] –** to really feel what it’s like to be inside you

 **Yang [0:45] –** do you want me to stop? if you don’t like it i will.

She should tell her to stop. She really should. But she’s too far gone to care.

 **Blake [0:46] –** Don’t stop.

 **Yang [0:46] –** so you really are touching yourself

She is. So hard her hand hurts.

 **Yang [0:46] –** god you must be so sexy

 **Yang [0:46] –** imagine i’m the one touching you

 **Yang [0:46] –** my fingers inside you, going back and forth

 **Yang [0:46] –** faster

 **Yang [0:47] –** harder

 **Yang [0:47] –** as fast and hard as you can take 

**Yang [0:47] –** fuck

 **Yang [0:47] –** just thinking about you makes me crazy

 **Yang [0:48] –** i’ll take you so hard you’ll forget who you are

 **Yang [0:48] –** jesus, blake. i never wanted someone as badly as i want you right now.

And maybe it’s Yang’s picture still incredibly fresh in her memory, maybe it’s the way she’s using her body weight to press harder on her clit, maybe it’s that last text; everything in Blake snaps. Waves of pleasure crash into her and she arches against the mattress, curls her toes and moans loudly into her pillow. It takes her a few seconds to get back to her phone.

 **Yang [0:48] –** i can’t even pretend anymore

 **Yang [0:49] –** i’d do anything to fuck you

Blake is panting heavily, mind blurry from her orgasm, and the only thing she can really feel is how frustrated she still is. It wasn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough, nothing but Yang.

 **Blake [0:49] –** Interesting.

 **Blake [0:49] –** I’ll have to think about that.

 **Blake [0:49] –** But for now, I need to go to sleep. Early shift tomorrow.

 **Yang [0:50] –** of course. sorry i kept you awake

 **Blake [0:50] –** It’s okay.

Blake bites her bottom lip, thinks about how Yang made her come just by being her sexy, honest self, and decides to drop the act for a second.

 **Blake [0:50] –** It was worth it.

 **Yang [0:50] –** yeah?

 **Blake [0:50] –** Yeah.

 **Blake [0:50] –** Really worth it.

 **Blake [0:51] –** Good night Yang.

 **Yang [0:51] –** good night gorgeous

*

Saturday nights are always busier nights. They’ve already arrested two drunk drivers even though their shift began not one hour ago, and they have five more hours to go. They’re patrolling downtown, not far away from Yang’s neighborhood, and while she drives Blake can’t help but think about her. Yang is probably training, as usual when she’s not on set or defeating her opponents in boxing matches.

“Blake?”

“Hm?”

She doesn’t look at Pyrrha, focusing on the road instead, but she hears the smile on her partner’s lips.

“Did something good happen lately?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been smiling a lot nowadays. Not that you never smile but…”

Blake laughs quietly, stops at a red light. She likes Pyrrha, a lot. Always soft and empathetic, always cautious not to hurt anyone’s feelings when she speaks. She likes her, and so she goes with the truth. 

“I met someone. Sort of.”

“Really? Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

Her sincerity warms Blake’s heart.

“Do I know him?” Pyrrha asks, and Blake struggles to remain impassive. “Wait, what do you mean sort of?”

“It’s complicated. I don’t really know what we are but… It’s nice. It feels right, somehow.”

She ignores Pyrrha’s first question but her partner doesn’t care. She values her privacy just as much as Blake values hers.

“That’s the only thing that matters,” Pyrrha smiles. She presses a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder before continuing, “I’m glad you’re moving on. Sun is great, but he wasn’t right for you.”

Did everyone but her know that? 

_“Units 15 and 24,_ _we have a 10–70 on 46 Vale Street. Please secure the perimeter.”_

“Back on duty,” Blake sighs and Pyrrha chuckles.

“Aren’t we always?”

They’re three minutes away from the scene—a fire, according to the ten-code—and as she turns on the siren and speeds there a dreadful feeling twists Blake’s stomach. They’re in Yang’s neighborhood. They’re in Yang’s street. 

She parks in the middle of the road, literally jumps out of the car, heart oppressed, eyes wide with panic. She only went there once, but she recognizes it. Yang's and Ruby’s building is on fire, wild flames roaring from one floor to another. Half of the structure is already burning, windows exploding under the heat, thick smoke crawling to the night sky. Yang and Ruby are nowhere to be seen.

Two firetrucks are on scene, firemen setting their sprinklers and yelling commands at each other. Behind her, Pyrrha is already redirecting cars. Blake runs towards a firefighter, eyes glued to the blaze.

“What’s the situation?” she yells to cover the crackles, the roars, the blasts.

“We’re not sure. We have five civilians trapped in the building, possibly more. Two other trucks are coming, we need you to clear the traffic and secure their access.”

She radios unit 15, whose car is now parked on the other side of the street, runs back to Pyrrha, evacuates a few pedestrians. She takes her phone out, feverishly dials Yang. _Pick up, pick up, pick up_. She doesn’t. So Blake calls Ruby. She doesn’t pick up either. _Shit_.

People are gathering nearby, filming with their phones, gasping when glass shatters. Blake focuses on her task. Keeping the civilians safe. Keeping the road cleared for the firetrucks. She can’t think about the five people trapped inside. She can’t think about Yang and Ruby. She can’t think about losing them. 

She can’t. 

Four firefighters rush inside the building, while two others set a ladder in order to climb to the fourth floor, to Yang’s floor, already overrun by flames. On the other side of the street, wearing pajamas or comfy clothes, people cry, shout, rage. They’re losing their homes, their belongings. Possibly their loved ones.

The other trucks arrive quickly, and a dozen rescuers jump out of the vehicles, carry a second ladder, drag the hoses and open the valves. 

Blake watches them work. She feels dizzy. She wants to throw up. She thinks about Yang and Ruby. 

They’re okay. They’re okay. They’re okay. They have to be.

A sudden blast rips through the fourth floor. People scream. One of the ladders is thrown away by the force of the explosion, and the fireman climbing it falls on the sidewalk. Blake dashes towards him, ignores the heat, helps him get back up.

“Are you okay?” she yells as they walk away from the blaze.

He gives her a thumb up, even though he’s limping, and Blake holds him while he sits on the back of one of the trucks.

Two ambulances are now joining the scene. Dancing colors paint the road, the nearby buildings, the crowd: blue of sirens, amber of flames, grey of ashes. Shadows swirl on the ground and on the walls, fire reflects on people’s grave eyes, and it’s all too cruelly beautiful.

One firefighter runs outside of the burning building, urging two coughing civilians in front of him, and paramedics are already sprinting to help them and check for injuries. People are being saved. People are being saved, and it’s as if air finally slides into Blake’s strangled lungs, as if she can smell hope among charred wood, molten metal, and scorching ashes.

That’s when she hears it. A loud “Fuck!” she would recognize anytime, anywhere, and her eyes snap to the lonely silhouette standing out from the crowd.

Yang.

Yang, in her sports clothes, her duffle bag dropped on the ground, her face illuminated by the flames, by shock, by incomprehension.

At this point, Blake has no control over her body. She rushes towards her and Yang barely has time to notice her before Blake throws herself into her arms.

“Oh my god, Yang! You’re alright.” Blake chokes on a sob, leans back, panics. “Where is Ruby?”

“She’s with some friends downtown.” Yang murmurs, still staring at the fire, at her home burnt to ashes. “I just saw her. She’s alright.”

Yang’s gaze drops to Blake. Her blonde hair, pale skin and dark lips are glowing. Her purple eyes brightened by the inferno destroying everything she possesses. Yet she stands, strong, untamed, and right now Yang is truly, undeniably, the most beautiful woman on earth. She gently grabs Blake’s cheeks between two shaky hands and smiles. It’s forced, but it’s there.

“We’re alright, Blake. We’re alright.”

How is it that Yang is the one consoling her right now? Blake shakes her head, takes a step back.

“I have to go, help the firemen. I’ll call Weiss. You and Ruby are staying at our place tonight.”

Yang just nods and Blake squeezes her hand before getting back to Pyrrha. For one second, she looks back. The sight of Yang all alone in the ardent darkness breaks her heart. 

*

Blake gets home at 3 am. Her shift was supposed to end two hours ago and she’s exhausted. She spent seven hours on scene, evacuating nearby buildings, helping the firemen the best she could, and taking witnesses’ statements. She expects the house to be pitch black when she arrives, but a dim light casts shadows in the corridor. It comes from one of the guest rooms.

She doesn’t even put her bag down, just walks towards the room, and finds Yang and Ruby curled up together in bed, both silent, both staring at the ceiling with tired faces. They’re wearing Weiss’s pajamas, too big on Ruby and too short on Yang, and that tiny detail makes them look even more vulnerable.

“Hey guys,” Blake says softly.

“Hey Blake,” Yang whispers as Ruby waves at her. “You’re back late.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t an easy shift. But the firemen managed to extinguish the fire and to rescue everyone. How are you two feeling?”

Ruby shrugs while Yang strokes her red hair. For the first time since she met her, Blake sees the big sister in her. Reliable, putting on a brave face so that she could carry some of Ruby’s burden.

“Well, you know,” Yang breathes. “It’s tough. But we’re both unharmed and that’s what matters.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Weiss took good care of us, don’t worry.”

“We have another guest room if you’d like.”

“No, it’s okay. We want to be together.”

Blake nods, awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other. She feels powerless.

“I’ll leave you be then,” she murmurs. “Good night.”

She’s turning around when Yang calls her.

“Blake?”

They lock eyes and Blake can’t stand the loneliness she discerns in Yang’s deep gaze. If only she could do something. Take her pain away. Embrace her. Kiss her. Tell her it’ll be okay, because she’s there, because she’ll take care of her, protect her, give her everything she needs and more.

“Thank you,” Yang whispers, and it’s broken and sincere and it strangles Blake’s throat.

The officer smiles timidly.

“If you need anything, you know where my room is.”

When she finally crawls into bed after showering, her skin is warm and her heart is cold.

*

As Blake finds out the next morning, the sisters never let tragedy break their spirit. When she wakes up and gets downstairs, Yang is already on the phone with her insurance, meanwhile Ruby is listing everything they lost in the fire. They’re both buzzing in the living room like two bees in a hive, helping each other out, even laughing sometimes, although it’s half-hearted. They support each other, feeding, growing on the other’s energy, and right now Blake can only describe them as unstoppable.

Weiss is enjoying her coffee on the couch, the flicker in her icy eyes revealing how genuinely impressed she is by Yang’s and Ruby’s resilience. When they finally take a break, sprawling in their chair, Blake sits in front of Yang while the Schnee heiress leaves the sofa and pats the sisters’ shoulders.

“How about we go shopping this afternoon? You need clothes, toothbrushes and all the essentials. I’ll pay for it.”

“Weiss, no,” Yang interrupts. “We’ll pay for our own expenses. You’re already too kind—both of you—to let us stay here last night.”

Blake frowns and puts down the toast she was conscientiously buttering. “Yang, Ruby, I hope you know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“And there’s no way you’re paying for anything while you’re under our roof,” Weiss adds.

Ruby doesn’t speak, staring at her sister with what seems to be an anxious look on her face, as if she’s expecting her to burst any second now.

“We’re _fine_ ,” Yang hisses. “We can take care of ourselves.”

She gnashes her teeth, hands slowly tightening, but Weiss doesn’t seem to notice.

“Nonsense!” the heiress singsongs as she walks around the table and sits next to her roommate. “Let me at least take care of the financial part. It’s nothing, really.”

Yang slams her fist on the table, shouts, “I don’t want your pity, Weiss!” and silence falls in the room, almost deafening. She rendered Weiss speechless, which is quite the accomplishment, and Blake gazes at her with uncertainty. Under Yang’s nonchalant behavior, rage churns. It burns like the fire devouring her home, and it’s so bitter her eyes sparkle with a dangerous and scalding red tint. Blake can’t stand to see her like that. Desperate. Broken by anger and powerlessness.

She slides a hand across the table, brushes Yang’s white knuckles with her fingertips, catches her trembling glare.

“You know,” Blake breathes, the ghost of a smile shadowing her lips, “if it were Weiss in your shoes, having lost everything she owned, she would have already bought a new house.”

Beside her, Weiss nods vigorously.

“Plus,” the officer continues, “she’s a spoiled rich brat who doesn’t understand the value of money.”

“Hey!” 

Weiss slaps her forearm but everyone can see her repressed smile.

“So don’t mind her,” Blake grins and, emboldened by the softness gradually nuancing Yang’s eyes, she moves her arm forward and takes Yang's fist in her hand. She strokes her smooth skin with her thumb, heart beating faster than it should, and suddenly she’s scared by how much she’s _feeling_ right now. She clears her throat.

“Weiss means well. And I’ve lived with her long enough to know she won’t stop pestering you until you let her buy you at least a few clothes. For her, it’s like offering you a cup of tea.”

“True,” Weiss approves. “I’m _loaded_ , Yang. Buying you a bunch of pants won’t ruin me.”

“Alright, fine,” Yang finally laughs, and that sight alone chases away the anxiety Blake didn’t even know she had. “You’ll come with us, Blake?”

“Sadly, I can’t. My first shift starts at 2 pm and I won’t come home before midnight.”

“That’s tough,” Ruby comments. “When is your next day off?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Ugh, I have to go back to class tomorrow. Cooking school is _so hard_!” 

She drops her head on the table, apparently more concerned with her studies than with her burnt home, and Blake laughs softly before glancing at Yang.

Yang is staring at her, her gaze flooded with hunger, and everything in Blake stiffens. Only now does she realize she’s still holding Yang’s loosened fist, and she hastily removes her hand, a deep blush creeping on her cheeks. 

“Alright!” Ruby exclaims while straightening in her chair, completely oblivious of the sudden tension flaring between Blake and her sister. “I don’t have much to pay you back, but I can at least make lunch. Plus, Weiss has crazy fancy tastes, so it’ll be good practice for me.”

Weiss rolls her eyes with an amused smile. 

“Fine. I’ll show you where everything is.”

She and Ruby stand up, move to the kitchen, chat idly, and it would all feel so natural, so easy, if Yang wasn’t still spearing Blake with a devastating gaze.

“I… I’ll go to my room,” Blake stutters.

And as she takes her plate and gets up, Yang never stops staring at her.

*

Yang and Ruby will stay with them at least a few weeks, until they find a new place. That’s what Weiss tells Blake the following day over breakfast. The sisters already left, one for school, the other to buy some of the sports equipment that got destroyed in the fire, and the two roommates are alone in the house, sipping their tea on the kitchen counter.

“Also, I gave Yang the guest room upstairs. The one next to yours.”

“I assume it was a completely random choice?”

Weiss snorts.

“All of the bedrooms are soundproofed but I’m not taking any chances. I swear to god, Blake, if I hear the tiniest moan I’ll…”

“Alright, alright!”

Blake grumbles and bites her toast. Even if Weiss seems convinced they’ll have sex anywhere, anytime, she isn’t sure they’ll do it at all. Somehow, everything changed. What was a fun, casual—and quite frankly weird—relationship is now caught in a storm of bad luck, and Blake doesn’t know where she stands. More than whatever they were, Yang needs a friend right now. And friends don’t fuck each other, or, at least, not in Blake’s book. 

Sex can mess things up, sex can complicate everything and Yang needs stability and trust. She needs to feel safe.

“Well, I’m off to work,” Weiss announces after putting her cup in the dishwasher. “I won’t be back until late, I have a board meeting tonight.”

“Good luck.”

“Call me if you need to get something for the girls.”

“Yes darling, I won’t buy the kids anything without your approval.”

Weiss scoffs but still kisses her on the cheek before leaving the kitchen. A few moments later, the front door closes and Blake knows she’s alone in the house.

It’s strangely peaceful and a bit lonely. So quiet she can hear her own thoughts too well, and they’re all about Yang. But the thing is, Blake doesn’t want to think about Yang, because if she does, she’ll also think about how soft her skin is, how long her fingers are, how freakishly good she seems to be in bed and _dammit_. There. That’s exactly what Blake wanted to avoid. 

Yang needs a friend. Not a horny teenager. 

So Blake does what she does best when it comes to her personal life; she deeply buries whatever feelings she may have and keeps her mind off things by reading and reading and reading again. Which is also a very welcome break after the weekend she had. 

As a result, when she hears the front door open two hours later and catches a glimpse of blonde hair in the corridor, she feels calm and controlled. Yang needs a friend, and so she’ll be one. 

Yang hurtles into the living room, carrying so many bags and boxes they hide her face. She’s in such a hurry she stumbles and half of her stuff drops on the floor in a loud clatter. She freezes, looks at Blake with sheepish eyes and _goddammit_. Who is she kidding? Yang is too cute, too genuine, too pretty, too everything for Blake to fight her. Warmth spreads, drapes her thighs, her stomach, her chest, and all she manages to do is smile tenderly at the gorgeous woman embarrassingly glancing at her. And that, her own tenderness, throws her off. Because, hell, wasn’t this supposed to be _just physical_?

Rather than face it, Blake chooses to conceal her confusion under a mask of sarcasm.

“Did you rob a store?”

“You could help, you know? Rather than sass me.”

“Fine,” she complies with fake reluctance, and soon enough she’s on her knees, gathering bags of sports clothes and accessories beside Yang.

They’re close. Real close. In an empty room, in an empty house. Last time this happened, Blake also dropped on her knees, and the memory makes her wet her pants with a very unwelcome arousal.

Their hands skim past each other and she jumps on her feet, startled.

“Wow, it’s okay kitty-cat,” Yang laughs, and Blake severely flushes. 

“I… I forgot something in my room,” she falters before ungraciously running off, leaving Yang alone and baffled.

She doesn’t come back. She just paces in her room for what feels like hours, restless, mortified, wondering _what the hell_ happened. Where did her composure go? Not even ten days ago, she pushed Yang against a wall and fucking _went down_ on her, even though she never even kissed a girl before. Now, a brush of Yang's hand and she can’t look at her in the eyes anymore? What is she, twelve?

And so, Blake circles endlessly on the hardwood floor, until her stomach growls and she has to face the truth: she won’t be able to hide forever. Plus, Yang needs a friend, and she’s being a pretty bad one so far.

Blake finally leaves her bedroom, goes downstairs, reaches the living room. She spots Yang through the patio door, practicing in the garden, all smooth skin and hard abs and shiny sweat. _God_ , she’s hot. She’s hot, and dangerous, and Blake’s wild, controlling, _angry_ desire comes back so strongly she shakes. All she wants is to get out there, rip her shorts and sports bra to shreds and take her among the flowers, in the pool, under the oak, again, again, again. She wants all of that, and yet she can’t, because it’s not what Yang needs right now. So Blake goes back to her room, closes the door and tries really hard—without any success—to suppress her devouring lust.

*

Around 6:30 pm, someone knocks on the door. It’s light and fast, and she already knows Yang is waiting on the other side. When Blake opens the door, a perfectly indifferent expression on her face, Yang nonchalantly leans against the frame and crosses her arms, a knowing smile stretching her breathtaking lips.

“Ruby is back from school and dead set on making us a feast tonight. I’m banned from the kitchen.”

“So you come here instead?”

Blake’s tongue clicks, too sharp, too cold, but Yang doesn’t seem to care. Her smile grows, reveals white teeth and a confidence the officer knows oh too well.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day, Blake.”

And the way she says her name, with that hint of threat, sends a pleasant shiver down her spine.

“And I know why,” she continues, smile less amused as she sighs, “I just want things to go back to normal.”

“And what’s that exactly?” Blake teases, even though she _definitely_ shouldn’t.

“You desperately trying to prove you’re straight, and me effortlessly proving you’re not.”

Ah, there it is. That smugness so irritating it leaves Blake with nothing but a violent desire to shut the fighter up.

“You want to go back to normal? Fine.”

She straightens up, a steely coldness flooding her gaze as she raises her chin, to gain control, to gain power.

“Let’s talk about how you told me you’d do anything to fuck me.”

Yang bites her bottom lip, and she’s so sexy Blake almost impulsively kisses her. Almost.

“Was it true, Yang?”

A wicked spark enlightens the fighter’s pupils as they abruptly dilate.

“It was. It is.”

“Then prove it.”

Blake isn’t scared anymore. Yang wants to go back to normal; she can do that. She wants to. She _craves_ their “normality”, their sexual tension, their fight for lust and power, she craves for Yang to yield, for Yang to make her yield. She takes a step back. Grants Yang permission to her room.

“Get inside.”

Yang complies, her arrogant smirk still lingering, assured, daring. Blake slams the door behind them and the brutal sound draws a sharp breath from Yang. Oh, she likes it when Blake takes command. It shows in her heavy breath, in the subtle blush on her cleavage, her cheeks, the tip of her ears. Blake likes it too.

“Take off your clothes.”

And so Yang does. She even puts on a show, slowly unbuttoning her shirt, outrageously biting her lip, almost dancing as she slides her pants down with so much grace and provocation Blake has to swallow hard. When she stands before her in nothing but her yellow bra and black boy shorts, Blake slightly clenches her fists. Yang is so fucking hot. So, _so_ fucking hot, body carved in marble, muscles defined under flawless skin, all soft curves everywhere, from her neck to her breasts, her waist, her thighs. She’s gorgeous. She’s _perfect_. And the worst part of it all? She knows she is. And right now, Blake isn’t the one who has leverage. But she doesn’t falter. She won’t surrender. She’ll keep fighting until Yang submits to her or makes Blake bite the floor. She shudders at the thought. She’d like that. To crawl on all four at Yang’s feet. But not today. 

“I said, _take off your clothes_ ,” she growls, and the tone of her voice, so animal, jars Yang’s breath.

Yang’s hands disappear behind her back and the bra falls on the floor, soon joined by the boy shorts. Blake almost sinks on her knees. How could she never notice? How magnificent a woman’s body is, how much love, care and tease it deserves? 

Yang is resplendent, with a beauty so intimidating it renders Blake speechless.

“What now, _officer_?” Yang purrs, and god isn’t she enjoying herself right now, crushing Blake with only the sight of her naked body.

“Get into bed.”

She obeys, lies on her back, eyes defying the policewoman.

“Under no circumstances are you allowed to touch yourself.”

Yang smirks, and then Blake unbuttons her shorts, takes them and her panties off and steps towards the bed.

“And under no circumstances,” she adds, voice low and dangerous, “are you allowed to touch me.”

Yang’s arrogance wavers. And when Blake crawls into bed, straddles her and positions herself just above her face, her arrogance _shatters_. Her now erratic breath scrapes Blake’s folds and the officer grasps the headboard with one hand to steady herself as she feels arousal dripping outside her, as she feels Yang's strangled moan escape her throat, as she feels desire burning the fighter’s skin.

“Blake,” Yang blurts out, half choke, half whine. “You can’t… You can’t do that.”

“Watch me.”

It’s Blake’s turn to put on a show. She slides her fingers over her tank top, brushes her nipples, feels how hard they are under the fabric, bites her lip at the thought of how aroused she is right now. So exposed. And yet in control. Her hand dives down, on her stomach, on her pubis, before settling on her clit. She lets out a shuddering breath, clenches the headboard, looks down. 

Yang is wrecked. She lost, she so completely lost. Torture, plea, surrender shape her expression, and she seems close to lose her mind.

“Blake,” she repeats, and there’s _pain_ in her tone. “Fuck, Blake. Blake. Blake.”

And the more she says it, the faster Blake rubs her clit. A moan breaks free, and Yang moans back, so completely overwhelmed by desire.

“Your fingers,” she barely manages to slur, face inches away from Blake’s sex. “Put them inside.”

Blake obeys. Pushes two fingers deep into her, in one thrust, and cries out another moan.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Yang gasps. “Again.”

She slides them out, shoves them back in, whimpers, her whole body now shaking. She can see Yang clutching the sheets, twitching under her, eyes wide with lust and need and awe.

“Again.”

Each time Yang tells her to, she slams her fingers as deep as she can, and she feels her orgasm build one rough push after the other, and there’s violence in her pleasure, there’s frenzy, there’s unknown. She’s not just masturbating above Yang. Yang is guiding her, electrifying her with every word, both a supplication and a command, looking into her eyes as if Blake holds all the answers of the universe, and they’re having sex. They’re fucking having sex.

And it’s so fucking _lewd_ it’s too much for Blake to bear; her body surrenders to pleasure, and she comes, hard, fast, like a sudden and dry explosion that tears her apart, drags a hoarse moan from her mouth, tenses her every muscle and causes uncontrollable spasms through her whole body. She collapses on the headboard, and then on Yang.

Blake snuggles down a little, rests her forehead on Yang’s, breathes heavily, still shuddering in the aftermath, and she feels good. So fucking good. Better than she ever felt in a long, long time.

“Can I touch you?” Yang whispers, a hint of worship in her voice.

Blake just nods. Yang can do whatever she wants. She can’t fight her anymore. She doesn’t want to. 

Yang raises timid fingers, brushes her cheek, her neck, her back over the fabric. It’s soft. Almost fearful. It soothes Blake and at the same time it sets ablaze her undying desire, and she wishes she could kiss her. Because Yang is _right there_. Her hot breath blows on her own lips. Their noses are grazing. They’re connected. They should kiss. But Blake can’t, because now it would feel like admitting something else, way deeper, way scarier, and she’s not ready. And Yang, gosh, Yang. Maybe Yang will never be ready.

“Dammit, Blake,” she murmurs while sliding her hands down and gently grabbing her ass. “You’re perfect.”

Blake bites her lip to hide her smile, starts to get out of bed.

“Don’t go,” Yang begs, and there’s no false pretend there, no mask, no power play.

“We have to. Your little sister is cooking for us, remember? She’ll come and get us any minute now.”

Yang mumbles but finally relents, an adorable pout on her lips. And as Blake puts her underwear and shorts back on, she can’t help but think that this, whatever it is, is definitely not just physical anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I'M SUCH A TEASE.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright people, THIS IS IT! The last chapter!!! Thank you so much for sticking with me until the end of this (very) smutty ride, thank you for your comments, your kudos, your enthusiasm. It gave me so much motivation and joy!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this !
> 
> Also, this is pure sin.

They don’t see each other for a while. Blake is doing one late shift after the other and Yang is back on set for a few days, with crazy hours of her own. They bump into each other in the common areas from time to time, manage to exchange heated glances and soft smiles, but that’s it.

Blake’s schedule becomes more and more erratic as one of her colleagues falls sick and she has to cover for him. She leaves early, gets back late, and she’s so exhausted she barely eats, just collapses on her mattress as soon as she’s home.

One day, she comes back around 3 am. She and Pyrrha spent the evening on a crime scene, and it was all too tough, too raw, too much. All Blake wants right now is to sleep for the next twelve hours and forget about the anxiety weighing on her chest. The house is pitch black when she opens the front door. She lights up the corridor, immediately notices the note on the floor.

**go to the kitchen**

She smiles. Such a Yang move. She picks the paper up and complies, walks into the kitchen, finds another message on the counter.

**chicken soup in the fridge.**

She opens the refrigerator and discovers yet another note on a huge bowl filled with broth.

**heat me. eat me. you need me.**

She snorts. Does she, now? Her stomach growls. Well, maybe she does need that chicken soup. She puts it in the microwave, waits two minutes while yawning ungracefully and sets the food on the counter. It smells amazing. She can picture Ruby cooking and singing her heart out, Yang playfully beating time with two wooden spatulas while Weiss covers her ears and whines. Yeah, it smells amazing. It smells like home.

She eats, and she honestly cannot remember the last time she had a proper meal. It’s good. Delicious, even. As she wolfs her soup down, she realizes how hungry she actually was. She puts her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, goes upstairs; another note decorates her closed door. She takes it.

**bathroom, now.**

She chuckles. Yang can be so bossy, even on paper. Still, she obeys. Amusement is slowly winning over exhaustion, and the chicken soup gave her some strength. Her pajamas are neatly folded near the bathtub. A message sticks on top of her black underwear.

**shower or bath, which will you choose?**

Blake giggles, ponders, decides on a long shower. Fifteen minutes later, she steps out of the hot water feeling less tense, less anxious, content, even. She dresses up, gets into her room, smiles when she spots the note on a book carefully placed on her pillow.

**read me. at least 15 minutes, okay?**

Again, she smiles. She picks the paper up and cautiously sets it on her nightstand—with the five others she collected on the way—before grabbing the book and lying on her bed. On the hard cover, she reads “Ninjas of love”, written in flashy pink letters that make her laugh. The illustration is quite explicit and she already anticipates a very poorly written erotic novel.

“God, Yang,” she whispers, and she couldn’t be more delighted.

She opens it to find her last note, folded between the first two pages.

**please take care of yourself**

— **y**

Her smile fades as her heart suddenly tightens. Somehow, it feels like a punch in her guts. She should take better care of herself. She knows that. But sometimes, her work is so important, so much to handle that she forgets. She bites her lip. Did her fatigue show those last few days? She can’t quite believe Yang did all that for her. She even bought a ridiculous book to cheer her up. Warmth spreads in Blake’s chest. Her heart tightens again, but it’s gentle, tinted with uncertainty and anticipation.

Yang cares.

She shouldn’t be surprised; Yang is a considerate person. Blake understood that as she watched her interacting with her friends, with Ruby, with Weiss this past week, the few times they were all able to be in the same room for more than a few seconds. Yang is a considerate person, but this… This is more than simple consideration. Isn’t it?

Blake can’t help the tiny smile emerging on her lips. She starts reading, and laughs, and laughs again, because _hell_ this is a terrible book and she knows Yang chose it because of how bad it is. So Blake keeps reading. The fifteen minutes turn into an hour, and when she finally switches off the light, she feels relaxed and happy.

All thanks to Yang.

*

The next day, as she’s opening the front door to leave the house, she sees the fighter going down the stairs. Their eyes meet. Yang smiles and Blake smiles back. She doesn’t stop smiling until she reaches the police station.

*

She comes home early for the first time in two weeks. Her coworker is finally back to work and her schedule is starting to look manageable again. Her sergeant even granted her two days off by the end of the week, and she can’t wait to finally take a break.

Weiss is still at the Schnee company, Ruby is checking apartments on her laptop, in the living room, and Yang is exercising outside. Blake disappears in her room, takes some time to change out of her uniform and clean herself a bit before going back down and heading for the garden. Yang is practicing kendo under the late afternoon gentle sunbeams. As it turns out, she isn’t only a kickboxing master. She’s also perfecting her skills in several martial arts for her stunts. She often stands in for actresses in fight scenes, and Blake wondered a few times if there were anything she couldn’t do.

“Hey gorgeous,” Yang welcomes her with a bright smile. “You’re home early!”

“Yeah. Things are finally getting better at work.”

Yang lifts her shinai—the bamboo sword she always uses to practice kendo—high above her head and cuts through the air with a sharp precision.

“Good,” she says, breath steady, eyes focused on the horizon. “Because I’ve been missing you.” She swings her weapon one more time, shoots a glance towards Blake and bursts out laughing. “Why do you look so surprised?”

Blake’s mouth goes dry. How can Yang say stuff like _that_ and still look so unfazed, so confident? How can she not feel vulnerable right now? Blake sure does. Because she missed her too, she missed whatever they have, and admitting it out loud would make her feel bare, body and soul.

“I…” Blake clears her throat, voice hoarse. “I don’t know. It seems serious.”

“I am serious.”

Yang swirls, her shinai whipping the air, and she’s stunning. All floating blonde curls and shiny arms. All focus, strength, beauty and honesty. Blake thinks about how she listened to her as she told her about Adam, how she cared and felt for her. She thinks about the awe in her eyes after Blake went down on her for the first time. She thinks about their hug after game night, how it felt good, tender, _loving_. About the softness chasing the anger in Yang’s gaze, the day she snapped at Weiss, after the fire. About how Yang told her she was perfect, right after Blake masturbated over her. About the notes, the book, the concern for her well-being.

Somehow, in the back of her mind, the officer always thought the blonde was just playing around. Blake obviously isn’t her first girl, and she won’t be her last. But is she the only girl right now? The idea sounds strange; Yang seems like the type to never be satisfied. But then again, she also sends her so many confusing signals.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Blake asks, voice confident and detached, as detached as she can manage.

Yang lowers her sword, surprise flickering in her eyes, and a devilish smile curls her dark lips.

“Are you asking me out, Blake Belladonna?”

“I am not,” Blake scoffs. “I was just curious.”

“You’re the only one on my radar.”

“I am?”

It’s Blake’s turn to look surprised.

“Who do you think I am?” Yang laughs, planting her shinai in the grass and resting her forearms on the pommel. “I don’t have a whole harem waiting for me, you know? Just you.”

She winks at her and Blake melts a bit.

“We never talked about your, well, love life, or sexual life, or whatever,” Blake grumbles. “We met because you were picking up some random girl, if you do remember. And you came on to me not even a day later. It’s kind of hard not to picture you as a player after that.”

“Fair enough,” Yang smiles. She sits on the ground, pats the grass next to her and waits for Blake to settle down. “There’s not much to tell, really. I dated a boy in high school, that’s how I realized I was gay. After that, I had five or six girlfriends, something like that. It never lasted more than three months. I’m not a player, Blake, not that it’d be wrong if I was. I’m just not good at relationships, I guess.”

“How come?”

“I’m a lot to handle.” Bitterness breaks in her tone. “I have a temper. And every time I got angry—not with my girlfriends, just at some shitty stuff happening in my life—they’d always make it worst somehow. Trying to calm me down or comfort me, but always in the… I don’t know, the wrong way? I felt like they never got it, you know? Like they never got me.” Yang sighs, shifts a little, and their knees brush past each other. “That’s why I tried to date Cinder—the girl I was supposed to meet the night we first texted. She seemed hot-tempered too. And I thought that, somehow, we could match. But no, she was just a royal asshole.” Yang laughs in disbelief and shakes her head. “I’m glad she was, though.” Her hand skims Blake’s thigh, and it’s intentional, inviting. “I probably wouldn’t be talking with you right now if I dated her for real.”

Blake swallows. Her heart beats in her throat. Her palms are sweaty. She’s entirely too self-conscious of how close Yang is, how her fingers still caress her leg, how she’s intensely looking at her right now.

“I’m glad too,” she finally confesses in a breath, and time stops for a second. But, _of course_ , that’s when Weiss chooses to show up in the garden, still wearing her light blue suit and her professional face—which is slightly sterner than her regular cold face.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your lovey-dovey moment but the delivery man dropped this for you, Blake.”

Annoyed, Blake glares at her, takes the box her roommate is handing her and sets it on her lap.

“That’s weird,” she mumbles, “I don’t remember ordering anything.”

Weiss crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, making it obvious she won’t leave until she finds out what hides in this mysterious box. Beside Blake, Yang fidgets suspiciously, but the officer focuses on the package instead, opening it with curious fingers. She finally removes the lid and starts at the sight.

“Oh my g—Is that a _dildo_?!” Weiss shrieks.

“I didn’t order that, I swear!” Blake blurts, eyes wide with shock, cheeks heated with a fierce blush.

“You two are impossible, _god_!” Weiss throws both arms in the air and angrily stomps towards the house. “Keep it in your rooms, for fuck’s sake!”

The second she disappears inside, Yang bursts out laughing.

“ _Really_ , Yang?” Blake shoots a flaming glare at her. “You ordered a strap-on and had it delivered under my name?”

“I just thought it would be fun!” she exclaims, wiping her tears away. “It went way better than I expected!”

Blake snorts. Looks at her. Shakes her head.

“You do know Weiss has every right to kick both of us out of her house, right?”

“Nah, she won’t. She’s such a sweetheart deep inside.” Yang shifts a bit and a wicked smile stretches her lips as she pats the box still resting on the officer’s lap. “So, do you want to try this bad boy?”

Blake scoffs, rolls her eyes, ignores the sudden pulse between her thighs.

“You’ll have to woo me first.” She stands up, tucks the package under her arm and looks down on the fighter sitting at her feet. “Properly.”

“What does that even mean?” Yang teases, voice sparkling with amusement, but Blake is already turning away.

“Surprise me!” she commands and, as she gets inside the house, she can feel Yang’s gaze burning her nape.

*

“Wait, what’s that?” Yang is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at a wooden door just across Weiss’s room. “Was this door always here?”

Blake laughs. She remembers her first weeks living in the house, how she stumbled across new rooms every now and then and freaked out at the actual size of the mansion. Even now, she sometimes wonders if she actually explored the whole house yet.

They are alone. Ruby took Weiss out on a whim, and they planned to meet with Nora and Ren in a bar afterwards. Blake just wants to fully rest during her day off, and Yang pretexted she had more training to do, even though it’s already late in the afternoon and she did nothing but laze around in the living room and glance at Blake reading on the couch.

“What’s inside?” Yang asks, and she looks like a little girl right now, all excited and curious and restless. “Can I go in?”

“Of course, why couldn’t you?”

“It could be Weiss’s sex dungeon.”

Blake chortles. “You know what,” she says with an amused smile, “I can actually picture her in a sex dungeon.”

“Right?” Yang laughs before opening the door. Her jaw drops. “Oh my effing god, _why_ am I discovering this just now?!”

She walks into the room, awestruck, and Blake watches her as she takes in the sight of the wide hearth flanked by colossal shelves bursting with books of all sizes and colors, as she slides a delicate hand on the billiard table sitting in the center of the lounge, as she carefully opens the wooden bar, whistles and takes out one of the dozen bottles of fine whiskies and liquors Weiss collects.

“It’s Weiss’s sacred place,” Blake explains before ensconcing herself on the black sofa. “I like to read here sometimes.”

“I didn’t know Weiss played pool.”

“She doesn’t,” Blake snorts. “She just thinks it looks fancy.”

“That’s too bad. What about you?”

“I’ve never learned, actually.”

“Would you like to?”

There’s a hint of mischievousness shimmering in Yang’s voice, and a slow fire ignites in Blake’s lower stomach.

“I might.”

And once again, they challenge each other. Yang smirks, grabs two cues from the table and hands one to Blake.

“I’ll teach you, then.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Blake’s sarcasm doesn’t completely veil her excitement. She leaves the couch, takes the stick and runs a finger on the soft cloth of the pool table, one eyebrow slightly raised, fake contempt curling her lips down. Yang isn’t easily duped, her grin growing bolder as she places a few balls on the table without tearing her eyes away from Blake. She takes a piece of chalk and rubs it on the tip of her cue, and her confidence swells, straightening her back, setting her purple eyes on fire.

“First, try to hit the green ball with the white one.”

Blake places herself by the table, awkwardly slides her cue between her fingers and aims. At least she hits the ball, even if there’s no strength and a total lack of direction. Yang doesn’t laugh. Her eyes flicker with something, not mockery, just a hint of thirst Blake is starting to know well.

“Your position is all wrong. Here, let me show you.” She puts her own stick against the wall and settles herself behind Blake. “You need to firmly grab the cue with your right hand, there.” She slides a gentle hand on Blake’s fist and places it higher on the stick. “And you need to put the tip on your thumb and use the other fingers to steady yourself and change the direction.”

Yang takes a step closer, suddenly pushing her body against hers, and Blake can feel _everything_. She shudders when Yang glides her other hand on her arm, wrist, fingers. The gesture burns her skin, too slow, too light, too deliberate. She needs to fight back or she’ll lose this round before it even begins.

“Really, Yang?” Blake manages to scoff. “You’re going for something _that_ cliché?”

“It might be cliché, but it’s efficient,” Yang counters while adjusting the Blake’s left hand.

“It’s not.”

Blake can’t see it, but she hears Yang’s smile. And she knows. It’s predaceous. Mocking. So fucking presumptuous. Yang presses harder against her back, and Blake swallows a gasp, heart rocketing in her chest.

“Your position is still wrong,” Yang sensually whispers in her ear, and shit. Shit. Shit. “You’re too _straight_.”

“Fuck,” she breathes, and she doesn’t care if the boxer heard.

It’s too much. All too much. Yang’s breasts against her back, her sighs on her neck, her suggestive fingers sliding on her arms, her hips against her ass. And then, then she releases her left hand and puts strong fingers on Blake’s lower back, crawls them up between her shoulder blades, and _pushes_.

“Bend over.”

Blake gasps. But she obeys. Of course she obeys. She yields to the pressure on her back, to the command, to the sexual tension oozing from Yang’s body and demeanor. She’s curved on the table, clenching her cue like a lifeline, Yang standing mightily behind her, her hand still pressing her down.

“Perfect,” Yang purrs, and Blake’s mouth goes dry as her crotch goes wet.

The fighter firmly settles her hands on the Blake's waist. Fuck. Yang presses her hips against her butt. _Fuck_. Blake drops the cue on the table. Clasps its edges. Bites her lip.

“I knew you’d like that,” Yang murmurs. She slowly starts grinding against her ass and Blake chokes on a moan. “I knew you’d like to be bent over and taken from behind.” She pushes harder, jostling her against the table, and Blake can’t handle it.

“Yang—” she pants, voice strangled. She’s on the verge of throwing her dignity away and pulling her pants down for Yang to fuck her right here, right now.

“What do you think, Blake?” Yang hums, leisurely rocking against her, and oh how Blake wishes they were both naked. “Am I _properly wooing_ you?”

“Jesus, you’re so cocky, I—”

A sudden spank turns her words into an undignified squeal.

“Am I good enough for you, Blake?” Yang growls.

Another hard slap and Blake’s whole body is set ablaze, her vision blurred with lust and need, and there it is. That fucking loss of control she was craving when she was with Sun, that I-don’t-give-a-fuck-anymore state of mind she always wished to surrender to. So, she abdicates. Turns around. Locks eyes with Yang.

They’ve been playing this game for too long. She can’t count the number of times she touched herself in the shower, on her bed, on the couch, even, while thinking about Yang ravishing her. She wants her. She’s wanted her since she first saw her.

“You win,” she finally breathes, and a bright darkness floods Yang's eyes. Blake hastily unbuttons her own jeans, pulls them down along with her underwear and tosses them away. She grips Yang by her shirt, tugs her close, and it’s violent, reckless, so freaking instinctive and _out of control_.

“Fuck me, Yang Xiao Long.”

Yang’s smile vanishes and everything in her darkens. Her irises, her lips, her whole aura. She grabs Blake’s naked thighs, lifts her up on the pool table, and Blake immediately wraps her legs around her waist. Yang removes Blake’s top, eager, craving. She unclasps her black bra and draws a sharp breath at the sight of her bare breasts and erected nipples.

“ _God_ , Blake.”

It’s everything Blake ever wanted, and more. To feel so fucking desired, to know the devastating effect she has on her partner.

On Yang.

The fighter glides a finger on her collarbones, sketches a straight line from the base of her throat to her navel, lingers a moment on the scar just above her left hip. She doesn’t ask. Her gaze trails back up, collides with Blake’s, and there’s so much intensity swirling in her blown pupils it dazes Blake.

Yang leans forward. Slowly. Irrepressibly. She leans forward and their faces almost touch, their breaths tangle, their lips skim past each other. It’s not a kiss. Not yet. But it’s electric. And it leaves Blake consumed with desire and need.

She groans, hooks her hand around Yang’s nape, presses their foreheads together.

“Fuck me.”

Yang bites her own lip, kisses her jaw, her ear, her neck, and Blake pants, grumbles, squirms on the billiard table.

“I’m ready, Yang,” she slurs. “You can make me wait and torture me later. I need you now.”

“As you wish,” Yang rumbles, and thunder rolls in her voice.

She slides a hand on Blake’s inner thigh, meets the wetness between her legs, growls at the sensation. She sinks one finger inside her, in a slow and steady push that draws a choked moan out of her. Finally. Finally, Blake feels her deep within. And yet, it’s still not enough.

She clasps her hands behind Yang’s back, whispers “More” in a pleading voice, moans when Yang pulls her finger out, cries when she slides back two digits. The fighter pushes deep, as deep as she can, and it feels so. fucking. _good_.

Yang starts thrusting her hand in and out, and each time she does, heat grows in Blake’s lower stomach, gradually conquering her whole body, flooding her lungs, blurring her mind, burning her heart.

“Faster,” she blurts, and she doesn’t care about how needy she sounds, about letting Yang render her so vulnerable, about letting her wield all the power. She has no pride left.

“Shit, Blake,” Yang murmurs. “You’re so hot when you beg.”

Blake whimpers. Yang caresses her cheek with her free hand, never ending her hard shoves, never breaking eye contact. Her fingers brush Blake’s jaw, dive down, clench around her neck.

“Fuck,” Blake mutters, tongue heavy with arousal.

Yang slightly squeezes her hand around her throat. It’s controlled. So freaking kinky.

“Is that okay?” she whispers, and Blake nods, incapable of vocalizing how okay all of this is.

Yang gets it. From the lust in her eyes, from the pleasure in her strangled moans, from the spasms of her inner walls clutching her fingers, down there. She gets it. So she tightens her grip around Blake’s neck, thrusts harder inside her, harder, harder, harder, until Blake sobs, scratches her back, convulses on the table, until Blake loses control, her mind and herself, until Blake comes so violently she holds Yang fiercely against her and shouts a deep, long and broken cry. But Yang doesn’t stop. Yang keeps pushing, driving her orgasm longer, higher, greater, and it’s not waves but tsunamis of pleasure crashing into Blake over and over again, washing every thought away until all goes black and silent.

Blake doesn’t know how long it takes for her to get back to full consciousness. She’s still clinging to Yang, panting in her neck, not sure she’ll ever be able to let her go. Yang slid her fingers out, now resting them on her leg, and Blake misses her warmth, her strength, her presence. It takes her a tremendous effort to lean back, just enough so that she can see the other girl’s face. She absentmindedly brushes Yang’s cheek with the back of her hand, wondering how someone’s eyes could be so dark and bright, so expressive and mysterious at the same time, and so incredibly beautiful too. Purple might be her new favorite color.

“Yang, that was…” she begins, voice hoarse, and she can’t find the words to finish her sentence. Because what _was_ that? If not the best orgasm of her life, but also so much more? It was complete surrender, complete trust, with her body, her reactions, her desires, and she never, ever let herself appear so naked in front of someone else.

“I know,” Yang whispers, and she kisses her.

Yang kisses her.

A real kiss. A gentle, warm, electrifying kiss. Delicate lips on her own. Exploratory tongue on her own. It’s tender. It’s sexy. It’s right. It’s so right, and it takes her breath away.

Blake kisses her back. Again, and again, and again. She slides off the pool table, pushes Yang away, but never breaks their kiss, never parts their lips. Step by step, she guides her towards the couch, until Yang’s legs bump into the sofa and she falls on it. Blake straddles her, still kissing her, always kissing her, because this is the best thing that ever happened to her and she _needs_ to kiss Yang just as much as she needs to breathe.

“Take off your pants,” she groans against her lips.

Yang complies, and it’s messy and frantic. Their legs and arms tangle, they fall on their side and giggle on each other’s mouth but never, not for one second, do they tear their lips apart. Finally, Yang throws her pants and underwear behind the couch and Blake reluctantly breaks their kiss long enough for the fighter to take her shirt and bra off. The second she’s done, Blake smashes their lips again, hungry for her taste, her softness, her everything. Their naked bodies melt together, and they fit. They fit perfectly. Blake’s hands roam Yang’s curves, greedy, and she wants her, she wants her, she wants her so fucking much.

“How do you need me?” she whispers before kissing her again.

“Your mouth,” Yang breathes, and Blake’s tongue muffles her voice. “Your fingers.”

Blake licks her lips, her neck, her collarbones, the tip of her breasts—and _God_ , those breasts, she could stare at them all day—the crease between her visible abs. She smells her and curses soundlessly. She remembers how Yang came in her mouth, weeks ago. So strong. So violent. So beautiful. She wants it all over again. And she can have it. She can fucking have it. She doesn’t have to wait anymore, to fight, to pretend. Their masks fell and left them bare. Exposed. And Blake should feel vulnerable, but she feels powerful instead. Because whatever she says and does, Yang accepts it. Yang _enjoys_ it.

“I want you, Yang,” Blake confesses, voice gravelly, nails digging in the blonde’s skin as she tries to restrain herself. Because if she doesn’t, she’ll go wild. “I want you so much.”

“Then do me.”

Yang grabs Blake’s hair and pushes her down, heaving, squirming, needing.

“Fuck, Blake. _Do me_.”

Blake takes one more second to marvel at Yang’s body, at her generous breasts rising up and down at each ample breath, at the wet sight between her open legs, and finally she dives in. It tastes as she remembers. Fucking. Great. So great she groans in unison with Yang and loses track of time for a while, licking, sucking, rocking her mouth against her clit, dipping her tongue into her folds, thoroughly enjoying her wetness, moans, curses.

It’s perfect. And yet again, it’s not enough.

Blake wants to feel her entirely, to ravish her, to _possess_ her. So she leans back, locks eyes with Yang, and slowly pushes two fingers inside her. It’s warm. It’s soft. It’s tight and flexible. It’s too much.

“Fuck,” Blake swears.

Yang’s lips part, her breath grows erratic, her eyes gleam with excitement. Blake starts moving with slow, deep thrusts that drag moans out of Yang every single time.

“Holy shit, Yang.” _You feel so good_. _You’re so hot. You’re so perfect._

“My clit,” Yang chokes. “Suck my clit.”

 _God_ , how can someone be this sexy? Blake complies, because there isn’t an alternate universe where she could actually resist this, and she plunges between Yang’s gorgeous legs. She wraps her lips around her clit, keeps shoving her fingers into her, each time more hastily, more roughly, each time making Yang moans louder until she lets out a stream of incoherent swears.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god, Blake, fuck—” Yang spills curse after curse, hips swinging so ferociously Blake has to press her against the couch with her free hand, her mouth still attached to her clit, her chin drenched with the fighter’s arousal. “Shit. _Shit_. Don’t stop. Fuck. Blake. Blake!”

Yang comes while saying her name. And it’s the most satisfying thing that ever happened to Blake. She had no idea. She had no idea she could feel that much pleasure just by _giving_. She had no idea someone could be so sultry, and fierce, and open, and endearing. She had no idea sex could be so raw. So good. She had no idea she could connect so deeply with someone.

Blake snuggles her way back up and smiles at Yang, still recovering from her orgasm, gaze blurry and breath shuddering. She’s beautiful. So beautiful. It’s the first thing Blake noticed about her. Because there was—there is—something else in her beauty, an openness, a defiance, a sincerity that struck the brunette right through the heart the first time she saw her, and every time she looked at her after that.

She gently kisses Yang’s forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and the kickboxer giggles. She looks so blissed Blake’s heart tightens.

“You’re so beautiful,” Blake whispers, a finger playing with golden hair.

Yang blushes, caresses Blake’s jaw with a hesitant thumb, but soon enough her usual cocky smirk stretches her lips.

“Who’s wooing who now?” she teases, obviously too proud of herself, and Blake chuckles.

She can’t believe she’s falling in love with such an idiot.

*

“What happened?”

They’re still lying on the couch, naked, lazy, enjoying a long cuddle after their wild ride. Yang is carefully brushing Blake’s scar with her fingertips and the officer nestles in her arms, face lost in a waterfall of golden curls.

“You don’t have to answer,” Yang murmurs.

But Blake wants to. And, truth be told, it doesn’t seem as difficult when she’s bathing in Yang’s comforting warmth.

“I got shot,” she reveals, and Yang hugs her tighter. “Two years ago. A bank robbery went wrong. Pyrrha and I were the first one on scene. They took hostages to escape, but one of the robbers panicked, and before we could even understand what was going on there were gunshots everywhere.”

“I’m so sorry.” Yang’s fingers trace the contours of Blake’s scar and it feels nice, as if she’s gently blowing away her painful memories. “Do you still think about it sometimes?”

“Yeah. But it’s not really the gunshot that comes to mind. It was awful and I stayed in the hospital for weeks, but I got better and I’m lucky enough I don’t have any aftereffect. No, it’s… It’s the hostages I think about. And Pyrrha. And the passersby. I wasn’t the only one who got shot. Innocent people randomly got injured, and I couldn’t do anything for them.”

“Did they survive?”

Yang’s voice is deep, calming.

“They did. Nobody died that day. I was the most seriously injured.” Blake shifts a bit, enough that she can look into Yang's eyes, and once again she’s struck by how empathic they are. She smiles softly, for Yang and because of her, before resuming, “That’s actually how I met Jaune. He was the one who kept me alive in the ambulance.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. He’s such a wonderful guy. He visited me once a week after that, to see how I was recovering, to help me pass time. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“What a crazy way to meet someone,” Yang smiles.

She caresses Blake’s curves, from her shoulder to her behind, and Blake relishes the sensation.

“It’s not as crazy as how I met Weiss,” she chuckles. “When she took over the Schnee empire, she received so many death threats she had to be placed under police protection. I had to shadow her for a whole week, and let me tell you, she didn’t want my company and she made sure I knew it.”

“Typical Schnee,” Yang laughs.

“ _Typical_. But eventually, she softened. And I got to see her for who she really was. A lonely, scared and incredibly brave girl trying to redeem her family’s name. We stayed in touch, met every now and then for lunch or dinner, and one day she just texted me _We should be roommates!_ And that’s how I ended up living here.”

“I still can’t figure out why she’d need a roommate,” Yang giggles, and every time she laughs Blake marvels at the sound. “She _can_ afford a nice place on her own.”

“She likes the company. She likes having a family that would actually have her back. And, you know, she’s really happy to have you guys with us.”

“What about you?”

Yang grins coyly and Blake snorts.

“You are _so_ full of yourself, you know that?”

“That’s not an answer!”

Blake laughs again, shakes her head, sits on the couch. She can feel Yang’s eyes wandering on her body, appreciative of the view, and she pinches her lips to hide her pleased smile.

“Actually,” the fighter sighs after a while, “Ruby and I will start visiting some places next week. We can’t stay here forever.”

“Oh.” Yang’s words froze Blake like an icy shower and she barely manages to reply, “Sure. You need to get your life back on track.”

“Exactly.”

Blake doesn’t know why, but she hoped, deep down, that Yang and Ruby would stay with them. It would be a terrible idea, especially after today. But it’s a terrible idea that feels _right_ , and she can’t ignore the hint of disappointment clutching her throat when she realizes she was the only one feeling that way.

Yang gets up from the sofa, grabs her clothes and smirks.

“This was fun. But alas, I have some training to do.”

She gets dressed, leans in and kisses her, and it’s so natural Blake actually blushes. Yang walks out of the lounge with an endearing smile, leaving her alone, flustered and sad.

She really, really doesn’t want Yang to move out.

*

When Weiss knocks at her door, way later that night, Blake is reading in her bed, comfortably buried under layers of blankets, a mug of warm herbal tea on her nightstand.

“Blake? Can I speak with you?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Blake puts her book down, stares at her roommate as she closes the door behind her and sits on the edge of the bed.

“So,” Weiss begins, and her voice is unusually hesitant, “I just spent the afternoon and the evening with Ruby.”

“How was it?”

“Honestly, she’s a hazard to my health.” Blake chortles. Weiss’s expression softens, and the uncertainty comes back, so singular for her, the Schnee heiress who has always radiated conviction and determination. “But I like her.” She sighs. “She told me she and Yang will start looking for a new place to live in next week.”

Blake’s heart slows, as if it was trapped in mud, and she just nods.

“Okay, so, here’s the thing,” Weiss says, voice tensed. “I like them. I really like them. And we work, you know? The four of us. We have completely different lives and personalities, but somehow, we match. And I’m considering asking them to move in with us, officially. Permanently. But you come first, Blake, you’ll always come first for me, and if you think it’s not a good idea I’ll—”

“It’s a great idea.”

Weiss’s eyes widen and a small smile curls up her lips.

“Really?”

Blake takes her friend’s hand and squeezes it.

“Really, Weiss. I’d love for them to stay.”

She would. She really, _really_ would. The idea of Yang and Ruby moving out—of Yang moving out—has weighed on her all night long, slowly digging a hole in her chest, and for the first time since the fighter left her in the lounge earlier, she feels hopeful. She wasn’t the only one thinking the four of them made sense together. Maybe Yang and Ruby would think that too. Maybe they will stay. Maybe Yang will stay.

“Are you sure?” Weiss asks softly. “It might get complicated, with Yang. I know you two still haven’t had sex, but it’s still a messy relationship.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“Blake, no. Did you—”

“Yup.”

“Oh my g—Half a day! We left you alone for half a day!”

“Sorry.”

Blake is not sorry. Not one bit. She smirks, even, remembering how hard she came on the pool table, how hard Yang came on her mouth.

“Ew, Blake, gross! Stop smiling!”

Her roommate slaps her shoulder and it’s painless, because Weiss would never hurt her and, behind her disgusted face, she’s actually happy for her.

“It was amazing,” Blake whispers; she can’t hold it in any longer.

Weiss sighs, pinches her nose and shakes her head.

“So, if they agree to move in with us, I have to expect two horny lesbians doing it like rabbits in my house all the time?”

Blake laughs.

“We’ll be discreet.”

“ _Wonderful,_ ” Weiss replies, tone heavy with sarcasm. She gets up, opens the bedroom door and raises an eyebrow at her friend. “What are you waiting for? Let’s ask them together!”

Blake almost jumps out of bed to follow her.

*

It’s half past 1 am and Blake can’t sleep. She should be exhausted, after the emotional day she had, but she feels relentless instead. She keeps thinking about Yang. About the way they fucked. The way they cuddled. The way they talked.

The way they fit.

She thinks about the look Yang gave her, when Weiss offered the two sisters to move in with them. How she stared at Blake as if she was the only person left in the world, as if nothing else mattered.

How she and Ruby said yes.

She thinks about how Yang pushed her against the wall the second they were alone in the living room and kissed her so ferociously it left Blake trembling and drenched.

Nobody has ever kissed her like that. But then again, nobody has ever fucked her, teased her, made her feel like that. Dizzy. Insatiable. Happy.

So, she can’t sleep. Her life changed the moment she first laid her eyes on Yang, and now the blonde is moving in with her. And Blake isn’t scared. She knows it will be chaotic, but the more she spends time with Yang, the more addicted to chaos she becomes.

And she can’t sleep. She can’t fucking sleep. Because Yang is right there, behind that wall, in the bedroom next to her, and Blake wants her with every cell of her body. She knows Yang isn’t asleep. She saw her light on when she went to the bathroom not ten minutes ago. She could knock at her door. She could go to her. Kiss her. Touch her. Take her, if Yang let her, and Blake knows she would. She could do it all. She can. She will.

But first, she needs to get ready.

*

Blake knocks and Yang’s muffled voice invites her in. She opens the door to find the kickboxer stretching on the floor, legs bare, hair wet from her shower. Yang raises her eyes and lets out a strangled gasp when she sees her.

“Blake, what—what’s—”

Blake slowly closes the door behind her, gaze never leaving her prey.

“Didn’t you want to try this bad boy?” she purrs, and Yang swallows hard, her now bulging eyes fastened on the strap-on Blake is smugly wearing on her otherwise fully naked body.

“I—I meant on you,” she chokes, and never in her life Blake has wanted to ravish someone this much.

“Up,” she orders.

Yang hastily obeys, cheeks flushed, eyes burning, breath already quivering with arousal.

“Get into bed.”

As Yang eagerly lies on the mattress, Blake crawls on top of her, takes off Yang’s night shirt and panties, kisses her lightly on the lips, bites her neck, licks the contours of her gorgeous breasts, sucks a nipple, shudders when Yang groans and digs her fingers into her back. She loves the sensations, every single one of them; their skins melting together; the nipple hardening under her tongue; the smell of shampoo wafting through the air. She loves how Yang twists under her, so eager, craving more, craving her. How she pants and flushes, eyes flashing with such a voracious hunger they turn red. How she begs. Please. Please. Blake, _please_.

But, for once, Blake doesn’t comply. She takes her time, lips lingering on Yang’s perfect skin, breath teasing her chest, ribs, hips and thighs, hands pressing her delicate flesh, and she’s gentle, always gentle, careful not to bruise, not to pinch, not to scratch—like the calm before the storm. Like a promise of how hard she’ll take Yang. It’s a torture, for both of them, but one she savors wholly, even more each time Yang implores her to stop teasing, to fuck her already.

“Please, Blake. Fuck, I—I want you so much. _Please_ take me. _Please_.”

And each time she begs, Blake loses a bit of control. She wants her. She wants her so much. And the scariest part is that it’s not just sexual. She wants all of Yang. Her warmth before falling asleep. Her laugh when she wakes up. Her kisses when she goes to work. She aches to be the first Yang comes to when she’s happy or sad, she aches to be the one to comfort her, to calm her down when anger overwhelms her. She thought she didn’t want to be one of her pretty girls, and now it’s all she can think about. Blake wants to be _her_ pretty girl.

“Blake,” Yang pleads. She takes her chin between her thumb and her index, forces her to look at her. Need and desire and pain consume her gaze, and she’s almost threatening when she slowly articulates, “Fuck me.”

Blake can’t fight back anymore. She gets on her knees, grabs the base of the dildo and positions herself at Yang’s entrance. She locks eyes with her, silently asking for a permission she already has, and when Yang eagerly nods, she pushes in.

A strangled cry escapes Yang’s mouth as she shuts her eyes and fiercely grips Blake’s wrists. Blake dives deeper, all the way in, until her hips bump into the blonde, and she stays there for a few seconds, heart beating so violently she can hear her own pulse. She has no idea what she’s doing. And yet, it’s amazing. She slowly starts rocking back and forth, awestruck by Yang’s expression, by the way her pleasure leaves her exposed and so freaking gorgeous. She pushes in and out, faster, harder, because Yang loves it and the more she expresses it, moans, groans, clenches the sheets, the more Blake loses control.

She grabs her by the waist, keeps pounding her, keeps staring at the stunning woman crying out under her.

“Fuck, Yang. _Fuck_.”

“I—I’m gonna—”

Yang’s words turn into a guttural moan and she shakes, burrows her nails into Blake’s arms, scratches her so hard it hurts. Blake groans, from pain and pleasure, and keeps swinging in and out, slowly, dragging out Yang’s orgasm until the fighter repeatedly taps her leg to make her stop. She gradually slides out, and they’re both breathless, skin glimmering with sweat, eyes hazy with the afterglow.

After a few seconds, Yang covers her face with her hands, still heaving, still shuddering with pleasure.

“Dammit, Blake. What _was that_?”

Blake smiles.

 _That_ was her way of telling Yang “Be mine.”

*

It’s their first game night since Ruby and Yang officially moved in with them. Nothing has changed. They drink fancy wine, eat cheap pizzas, share life stories and laugh over stupid games. Nothing has changed, except when Yang absentmindedly kisses Blake while she hands her a glass of wine and the whole group falls into a shocked silence. Then, chaos erupts. Ruby shrieks, Nora jumps on the couch, Jaune laughs, Pyrrha beams wholeheartedly, Weiss sighs, Ren nods his approval, Neptune stares at Sun, and Sun remains silent, eyes wide, mouth open, face pale. But then, he smiles. He smiles at Blake, and it’s so sincere, so kind that tears spring into her eyes.

Weirdly enough, Sun’s approval was the only one she really needed.

*

Later that night, they’re both lying naked in Yang’s ruffled sheets, Blake still recovering from her last orgasm, mind fuzzy and body quivering with pleasure. It feels so freaking good. They should have done it sooner, way sooner. They should have fucked the night they met. Blake thinks about their first meeting, how Yang instantly came at her not even five minutes after seeing her for the first time, and she giggles.

“What?” Yang smiles, fingers brushing her dark hair.

“I have a confession to make,” Blake murmurs before burying her face in the other girl’s neck.

“What is it?”

“I might not be straight after all.”

Yang chortles, and it’s so cute Blake’s heart skips a beat.

“Really?” she teases, a hint of smugness in her voice. “What was your first clue?”

“I don’t know. The way I fell in love with you at first sight?”

Yang freezes for a second, before hugging her tightly against her. She kisses her hair, her temple, her cheek, her mouth. It’s gentle and passionate, and Blake knows she’ll never get tired of it. 

“I love you too,” Yang whispers before kissing her again. It’s heated, sensual, breathtaking. She parts their lips just enough to look into Blake’s eyes, slides a provocative hand down the officer’s stomach and smiles cockily.

“Ready for round two?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY PROPERLY FUCKED, GUYS. FINALLY.
> 
> .
> 
> Also, you can find me on Tumblr (sodalayt) if you want to chat with me or yell at me ;)


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